Life is what happens when we're not paying attention. Well, Life, you’ve finally got my attention.

First, I’d like to lay out my take on Life thusfar. We each have a free will and the mind to use it. I believe certain traits are blueprinted inside our souls and we are predestined to our personalities. It is up to us to use them as building blocks or demolition balls. Often, what we’re given to work with isn’t much and fundamentally contradicts our core beliefs. Many are given the tools to succeed but are corrupted by our environments or others who attempt to influence our life beyond normal limits. And we foolishly let them.

If you’re reading this, then chances are you're going to be reading more of my entries over the next thirty-one days. And we know this is not because my words flow like wine and draw you in like a gazing ball. This daily writing challenge has captured my attention. So, I’m tapping Life on the shoulder, and you are a self-appointed witness. May God help you.

I’m someone’s daughter. They are perhaps the two best friends I’ve ever had and for some unknown reason, I invited them to become my neighbors about a year ago, and for some equally unknown reason, they accepted the invitation. God help us.

I’m someone’s sister. Actually, I’ve got two of that variety. Sisters are essential to life. At least mine are. My older sister serves as a gauge to suggest where I’m headed and my youngest is a reminder of where I’ve been. Of course, this is only in terms of physical change, because the three of us are nothing alike on the inside. Thank you, God.

I’m someone’s mother, twice over. Two sons that will go the distance for their mom at a moments notice. I’m not going to try and convince you that my sons are perfect, but they are close. I believe in the “I’m okay, you’re okay” approach and I think it ultimately works. Unconditional mother love has paid off for these two so far, but I reserve the right to kick their collective butts should the need arise. God, I’m lucky.

I’m someone’s ex-wife, after twenty-one years. No regrets for ending it, but perhaps some for not ending it sooner. It was a love-hate thing most of the time. The problem was I hated loving him and he loved hating me. Now that it’s over, he claims he’s loved me all along. I’m just over it. Thank God!

I’m lots of other things to lots of other people. But this entry MUST be 500 words, and not a keystroke more. Why God?

And so, if you’ve paid attention to any of my ramblings, you’ve detected a redundancy. I’m all about God and Life. And there’s a reason for this. God = Life. He’s hung around long enough to watch me fumble and still chooses to participate. We have our moments and for that, God, I’m blessed.




 

We’re traveling back in time now. The year is not important. A young couple has arrived at Touro Hospital for the birth of their second child. It’s a hot steamy August evening in the Big Easy and the night air is so thick you can slice it with your breath. The doctor is tired. It’s Sunday night, she’s already delivered four babies and has a Ceasarean scheduled for seven a.m. Monday morning. The nurses are a little distracted with a patient in the next room, leaving the anxious couple alone for most of the labor progression. The mother-to-be is having an unusually easy time of it and finds the labor pains just slightly uncomfortable. The nervous dad-to-be is reassured by the ease of labor his wife has experienced so far. It’s nothing like the first birth three years ago; all that yelling .... all that pain.

“Honey, I’m fine. Please go call home and check on Jan. She was upset when we left the house. Just make sure she's gotten off to sleep okay,” the woman asked with reassuring eyes.

“Well, alright. If you’re sure I can’t do anything for you? I’ll make a few calls and let everyone know we’re here. I’ll be back soon. Don’t start without me.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” she smiled.

Moments after he left to tend to phone calls, the unborn child decided it was time. As the mother lay alone, quietly resting in the hospital cubical, a rush of light appeared around her. The soothing glow wreathed a circle of iridescence and bathed the young woman’s aura. She realized it was time and began praying aloud. “My Lord, please bless this child.”

A nurse soon appeared to check on her progress and returned with a gurney to move her to the delivery room. Her husband, with one ear attached to a pay phone, watched from the end of the hall in disbelief. He dropped the receiver and ran over in time to yell words of encouragement. “I’m right here, Honey. Jan’s okay. She's fast asleep. I’ll be right here if you need me.” This was at a time when fathers-to-be paced the floors and obliviously waited outside the delivery room for the doctor to appear with birth news.

Without much ado, the doctor proceeded to deliver the baby. Labor went quickly and smoothly, but at the exact moment of birth, something happened. The lights in the delivery room flickered off and on for a few seconds. Not long enough to trip the generator, but just long enough to leave the room in momentary darkness. When the lights came back on, the baby thrust forth into the world, with barely a cry, but simply a coo and a sigh.

“What a beautiful baby girl,” the exhausted and grateful doctor exclaimed. “ I can’t recall the last time I’ve delivered such a perfect baby and with such ease. ”

“Doctor, I bet you say that about all your babies,” an attending nurse replied.

“Actually, no I don’t. Look at her. She’s an angel.”

When the recording nurse began filling out the documentation, she became distracted and forgot to fill out the names of the mother and the father on the birth certificate. The delivering physician signed the document and the baby girl's tiny footprints were placed on the parchment paper, and still no one entered the parent's names. No one ever noticed the absence of the mother and father’s names on the document, not even the parents themselves.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many aspects of this story are true according to two people who were there, or almost anyway. I have the original birth certificate to document it.

Which leads me to ask, “Who am I and Where did I come from?”




 

Fast forward: Sixteen years. My best friend, Jo Anne, and I decided to volunteer as junior counselors at St. Mary of the Pines as a stall tactic to avoid the whole boy issue. And I must admit the idea of bossing around dozens of kids held certain appeal.

So we packed our bags, bid our good-byes and boarded the Illinois Central Commuter train to Chattawa, Mississippi.

I remember the exact moment I sensed the uncertainty and the magic of that summer. It was the second I boarded that old train. The iron maiden creaked from the predictable sway of being rocked across the same five-hundred and sixty-four miles of rail while hauling unceasing generations through the swampland flats and bayous of the deep south. I was mesmerized as the tracks sliced through mossy mazes of cypress trees protruding irregular mammoth forms through citron colored skin that rippled like liquid silk from our thunder.


The moment the train pulled up to the Chattawa station, my heart began pounding with strange terror. We mimicked two lost kittens, ducking between enough luggage to confirm our visiting status. Then we heard this angelic voice.

“Debra? Jo Anne?

“Yes, ma’am,” I waved with relief.

Standing before us was Sister Juliet, a slender tanned young woman with vibrant green eyes and an engaging smile framed in a white linen habit. She was nothing like the nuns that taught us at Sacred Heart. Looking back now, I realize there wasn’t much pious about her. It was her contradictions that drew us in. Innocence and exuberance meshed with boundless energy. She grabbed our two largest suitcases and said, “Come on girls, let’s go home.”

We scooped up our remaining bags and scurried to catch up to her pace. “Where’s all the campers?” I questioned.

“Oh, they’ll be along tomorrow. Today is for the counselors. You’ll have a chance to meet the others, settle in and find your way ‘round the place first. We’ve got one hundred and sixty-two kids arriving in the morning.”

We climbed aboard the old yellow school bus and held on for dear life as Sister Juliet bounced her way back to St. Mary of The Pines. The tall pine trees appeared like giants standing guard over the camp grounds. The air was sweet and the grass was greener than any I’d ever seen.

“Okay girls, I’ll let you off here. You can check your room assignments on the bulletin board. All the other counselors have arrived. Dinner’s at 6:00. See you then.”

We stood before the dorm and felt our independence flounder. We really were on our own….for six whole weeks. No parents, no sisters, no family of any kind. Only dozens of screaming kids depending on us for guidance. What where we thinking?“

Luck was on our side. Jo Anne and I were assigned the same room. Knowing we could start and end each day in the same space made everything else tolerable. Jo Anne and I were inseparable in the city, so we’d hoped to keep the tradition alive at camp. After all, we were in charge. Right?

Meeting the other counselors was unsettling, to say the least. Later that night, we discovered they were part of a junior cult that held nightly séances to conjure spirits from the local graveyard. On that very evening, Jo Anne and I were tested for our silence. By evening’s first shadow, dark souls emerged from graves unburdened, laying claim to those willing to console death within.

What good could come from this? Our days filled with disobedient kids and our nights consumed with haunting rituals.
 

Fast Forward: Six weeks. I’m riding the commuter train back home with Jo Anne and we’ve got very little to discuss. Best friends also need their space, especially after sharing the same room for six weeks. We shared a lot more. Mostly, I found myself loosing her to the spells of St. Mary’s. We both succumbed to peer pressure and participated in the graveyard musings quite regularly in the beginning.

That all changed for me the night I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. Instead some half-human beast starred back at me through my own eyes, only they were fiery and evil. After that night, I would have nothing more to do with the incantations and summoning of spirits. I tried to convince Jo Anne that it was outright evil and we shouldn’t be messing with the dead, but by then she had succumbed to the lures of darkness. Toward the end, she was a regular participant in the séances and the graveyard visits . Of course, the sight of Sister Juliet being levitated by eight of the junior counselors will haunt me until my final days. They said it was just for fun, but every time I revisit the memories, my spin shivers.

All in all, I enjoyed being with the younger kids the most. They weren’t anything like I expected. For some of them, I became mom, dad, big sister and role model. Wearing all those hats tends to make one forget about midnight rendezvous with the afterlife. At least, for me it did. But poor Jo Anne was lost in a fog that she may never entirely find her way out of. Sister Juliet offered to exchange addresses so we could stay in touch during the school year. Jo Anne was flattered at the request and eager to oblige. I just said we’d be moving soon and I didn’t know my new address yet. I know God forgave me for that one.

I kept imagining Sister Juliet as the head of some witch’s coven that used the camp to recruit young virgins for grooming in the dark arts. I do have a vivid imagination at times, but this concept didn’t seem entirely foreign.

The train seems to be loosing it’s magic as we get closer to the city. Each mile traveled grants clearer vision for what is really important. I just want to be home. I want to sleep in my own bed and wake up in my room, with my sister laying in the bed next to me. Did I really think that? Yes…..I really did.

We’re finally at the train station now. Jo Anne’s mom will be picking us up and they’ll drop me off first since Mom and Dad are working today. The car ride is strangely quiet. Even small talk about camp life seems to be an effort for Jo Anne. She’s distant and evasive about the whole experience. Those last three weeks of evenings with the girls must have left their mark. I hope I get my friend back before school starts back up in August.

Finally, we’ve turned onto Hawthorne Place and there’s MY house. That big, beautiful two story hunk of real estate. I’m home.

I can’t get my luggage out fast enough. I leap up the stairs and rush through the front door to find Jan in the kitchen. I’ve dropped everything and flung my arms around my sister and just wept. My sister? Yes, my wonderful sister. Home, sweet home. Thank you, God.



 

Life was filled with triumphs and tragedies through much of my sixteenth year. My grandmother passed away that year and left a gaping hole in my existence. The emptiness felt by her departure manifests even to this day. In order to fully explain, I must travel back to my fifth year. It seems erratic to bounce back in time just as I was making leaps forward, but I must explain this woman fully and the impact she still has on me.

Margot was the proprietor of a sweet shop to the average pedestrian. But to the discerning, she was someone very special. Her secret room, behind the sugar-coated facade held mysteries and wonders sustained through her third eye vision. Margot was a reader of people. Her keen insights were valued by some of the Garden Districts most upstanding citizens who wouldn’t consider a major decision without benefit of Margot’s visionary interpretation on the matter first. It was not uncommon to see the occasional limousine parked in front of her quaint storefront and they weren’t patronizing her for the pralines.

Although my parents respected her talents, they tried their best to shield my innocence from things other worldly. Little did they know, Margot was inclined to share many of her secrets with me on the hot summer days I was fortunate enough to spend in her company within the secret room. She explained her technique of listening to Spirit and using the “gift” to help people. Sometimes her eyes projected a pool of wisdom that begged me to dive in head first. Margot mentored me in the art of white magic and nurtured the spirit she recognized since my birth. She sometimes called me her “Spirit Sister”.

She was a kind, gentle woman who was guided by the grace of God. She taught me to look for the good in people, because it is always there just waiting to be acknowledged. It was said she could never bring herself to share the bad news with anyone during a reading, instead choosing to see the good in every situation. She probably invented the phase, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.”

It’s been suggested by more than a few that I’ve inherited some of her talents and in some way, I do sense a connection to Spirit much like hers. I’ll never be a reader like Margot, but I am grateful to her for opening a door that swings wide open almost every day. My Spirit soars and travels quite often, bringing back treasures and souvenirs that adorn me with insights to draw from in daily life. One lesson in particular has stuck with me more than any. Simply stated, it addresses those times in Life when peace and happiness seem elusive.. Those are the moments when one must quiet their mind, blocking out the static of daily life. Release the bodily constraints and allow time to stand still, just for a moment. Bathe in Spirit and drink it’s cleansing waters.

Take a moment each day….……just a moment……..……..and connect with Spirit…… and just listen. Margot taught me that.




 

I’m not a devote reader of the Bible. However, I find pockets of wisdom lurking throughout its pages and feel a certain attachment to the Apostle Paul and some of his words. In Corinthians, there is one verse that has sustained me through my darkest days.

Zoe Alyssa was born yesterday. She's my granddaughter, all five pounds, 11 ounces of her. I'll be driving to New Orleans Sunday to hold her and see her for the first time. What more could a son give his mother on a day devoted to motherhood than her first granddaughter? I can't think of anything better.

Considering how important my grandmother was to my Life, I find the arrival of this baby girl significant in carrying the torch of Spiritual light to future generations. Her father has been a real gift to me and has a strong Spirit claiming a big place in his Life, so I know he will nuture her in the ways of Spirit. There have been times when Brian has taught me things about myself and Life that I was unable to learn on my own. He's let me lean on his shoulders at times when he could bearly support the weight of his own Life. We've got a few minor miracles working for us, and Zoe is now counted as one of those. I know he'll be a good father, because he's been an exceptional son.

The cycles of Life keep turning and lately, I find the speed has intensified faster than I can keep up. Sometimes, I just want to jump off the carousel and jam the wheel for a while. The days and nights fade into each other so quickly now that I'm convinced the calendar skips whole days. Where did April go? She's missing from my year. I want her back. I'm hoping this writing commitment will be an aid in understanding the pace of time's hasty passage. Funny thing, when I was younger, the days seemed much longer. Is it that the days are shrinking or perhaps I'm finally realizing how much I haven't accomplished yet?

Being active in Zoe's life will be a real challenge for me. We live in different towns, although with planning and determination, I hope to see her at least once a month. My son tells me she's going to need her grandmother, since I'm the only one she has. Brian says he needs me too. He's facing new issues with this child and her mother that will test his virtue and patience. Here is my first gift to Zoe.

And now for something completely different:

Because it is Saturday, I’m going to play a word association game. It’s a sampling of some of my favorite A to Z words with sentence examples. This is not the first word that pops into my head, but actually words that I enjoy saying, writing or reading.

Aphrodisiac: Observing the fine points of nature can be the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Bliss: When the night is quiet and still and the stars shine bright, bliss strikes a cord and plays my favorite tune.

Consummate: Each new day allows a fresh opportunity to consummate Life.

Divine: Seek the Divine, and that is what you will find.

Earth: Earth is the transition between failure and success.

Father: When my Father’s speaks, I must learn to just listen.

Guidance: Parenthood is an opportunity for guidance, not insistence.

Hope: There is always Hope.

Insight: Never look further than inside for true insight.

Justice: Justice is the greatest equalizer we have.

Karma: Karma always has her way in the end.

Love: Love is all we need.

Momentum: The momentum of Life will always see us through, even when we believe we can’t go on.

Nurture/Nature: We have an obligation to nurture nature because it has sustained mankind since the beginning of time.

Omnipotent: Life’s greatest lessons provide omnipotent clues about our existence.

Predicate: Tomorrow is always predicated on how we live today.

Question: Always ask the next question.

Rapture: Life occasionally provides rapture to balance the equity of meager days.

Sensual: The most sensual feeling is the one that reaches the sixth sense.

Trinity: The Trinity is God’s way of appeasing man’s need for proof of His existence.

Understanding: Offer understanding to your enemy and you gain an ally.

Validation: Life is an opportunity to earn validation.

Why: Why do the moon and stars shine brightest when so few of us are paying attention?

X: Some of the most honest answers can be given with a simple x.

Yesterday: What failed yesterday, could succeed today.

Zoe: Life is renewed again through an angel named Zoe.


Okay, I’m sure you’ve detected a theme in these sentences. I didn’t mean to come across preachy, but I did use Trance Writing to expedite this mind exercise. I will elaborate on the process of Trance Writing in a later entry.

Well, here I am back in control of my faculties and find myself embarrassingly shy of about a hundred words to fulfill my daily obligation. So, now I will fill your time with a spontaneous poem about the morning because I’ve got nothing else to offer at the moment.

Hitherto morning light,
We wake to choices
Will today be a blessing or a fight?
Whichever way we allow it to go
Life progresses at our own pace
We can soar high or tread low

Before stepping from slumber’s aid
Perhaps a moment we should all take
Choosing to consider all our options
Consciously focus on the Life we make

So when dawn beckons you to rise
Decide first not to compromise
And if you can’t reach that conclusion
Just stay in bed and dream the illusion


 

Time began in a garden-the Garden of Eden. We are all familiar with Adam and Eve.

Fear didn’t exist for them. Shame and guilt were unknown emotions. And yet, the one restriction they were given became their undoing, and our legacy.

I often consider what life on Earth would be like had they not fallen from grace. Of course, this is all subjective, but perhaps…..


“Adam, what shall we do today?”

“Eve, I fancy that we might float across the crystal sea and play along water’s edge for a spell. After that, we’ll find some nourishment among the banana trees and coconut palms. The grape vines are sure to be ripe too.”

“Perhaps. Then we might lay under the trees and rest for a spell. And when we wake, we might observe the doves and eagles soaring overhead and our spirits can join them in flight.”

“Excellent, I can’t ever get enough of soaring through the heavens with you. Perhaps our Father will see fit to join us again.”

“Yes, I do miss our Father. He is a joy to be with.”

Later that day, as Adam and his Eve were floating, dolphins swam by their side and began to communicate with the couple.

“Adam, what is it like to walk the Earth, and soar through the sky?” questioned one of the dolphins.

“Dolphin, living on Earth is magnificent. The splendor of the mountains and valleys, the forests and the fields, sustain our existence and grant beauty beyond compare. The iridescent oceans, lakes, rivers and waterfalls provide cerulean splendor when they kiss the sky and reflect the morning sun. The evening stars light a galactic canopy by night guiding our celestial flights. By day, the clouds anoint the sunlight sky with soft pillows to float on as we observe the wonders of the Earth.”

“You want for nothing?”

“Nothing.”

The couple eased onto the shoreline and took refreshment from the land, after which they found a shade tree to rest under from their swim. When they awoke, a lion was laying beside them.

“Adam, what’s it like to swim from shore to shore and soar through the sky?” the lion questioned with a thought.

“Lion, the iridescent oceans, lakes, rivers and waterfalls provide cerulean splendor when they kiss the sky and reflect the morning sun. We swim weightless when we join the creatures of the seas, traveling great distances with little effort in an underwater world of magical splendor. The evening stars light a galactic canopy by night guiding our celestial flights. By day, the clouds anoint the sunlight sky with soft pillows to float on as we observe the wonders of the Earth.”

“You want for nothing?”

“Nothing.”

After a while, the couple began to observe an eagle soaring high.

“Shall we join him?” questioned Eve.

“Yes, please,” Adam answered.

The couple closed their eyes and slowed their breathing. Within moments, their souls were floating up through the clouds and were in the company of the eagle.

“Adam, what is it like to walk the Earth and swim the great oceans?” the eagle questioned with silent communication.

“Eagle, living on Earth is magnificent. The splendor of the mountains and valleys, the forests and the fields, sustain our existence and grant beauty beyond compare. We swim weightless when we join the creatures of the seas, traveling great distances with little effort in an underwater world of magical splendor. The iridescent oceans, lakes, rivers and waterfalls provide cerulean splendor. The forests are blanketed with trees that kiss the sky and connect the heavens to the Earth.”

“You want for nothing?”

“Nothing.”

The Creator did not join them in flight on that day because they wanted for nothing. When the day was close to ending, Eve questioned Adam. “Why did you tell the creatures that you want for nothing?"

“The creatures would not be able to understand what we truly long for.”

“The company of the Creator.” Eve responded, knowing the answer.

“Yes. That is what I long for.”




 

I can’t get yesterday out of my mind. Being a mother, I do appreciate the fuss that is made over one of the most natural things a woman can be. However, I’ve always felt it was an over-rated celebration to appease the guilt of those who ignore or take advantage of their moms during the rest of the year. Whatever the motivation, the day does honor motherhood and so overall, that can’t be a bad thing.

Having my parents as neighbors is a definite perk on the holidays. The sense of family is as natural as breathing with them so near and I feel a return to my childhood nurtured by their unconditional love. Mom and Dad are accepting of all my foolishness and have been real troopers during my major life transitions this year and throughout my life. They give me the space I need to succeed and yet are at my beck and call when I stumble and need their backup. They were born to be parents.

I, on the other hand, sometimes struggle with parenthood. I don’t exactly rule with an iron fist and my sons know this. They don’t ever have to call me “Ma’am”, just “Mom”. They will put their lives on the line for me if necessary, and in fact, have been known to do so. I’m not into the traditional aspects of parenting, since I believe my job is to offer guidance not judgment. On occasion, that philosophy has left mud on my face. Most often, it’s made me proud of my young men. Yesterday, was just such a day.

The morning found us exchanging gifts, cards and greetings. After which, we honored Dad’s Blessed Virgin Mary statue with a crown of red roses from the garden and a prayer from our hearts. After all, she is the Mother of all Mothers. Soon enough, my youngest son and I packed up the car and headed to the city to visit my oldest son and his family and to welcome Zoe into the world.

Along the way, a drive by the old neighborhood in Lakeview granted renewal in a most surprising way. The empty lot that was once my childhood home, has evolved into something quite different. It is now destined to become a new home and was at a state of construction that allowed me to walk through spaces which were once my home. The surreal aspects of standing in the same space that you grew up in are indescribable. So many memories…..so much love.

Finally, we arrived at Brian’s home. He’s beaming with enthusiasm and love for his family. Zoe is this gentle, calm energy that seems to have many of our family’s physical traits. She is a direct contrast to her 14 month old brother who makes his presence known immediately. My daughter-in-law went on to explain that Zoe hardly made a sound when she was born, or even since then. Holding her was a calming experience for me. I definitely need more of that in my life and will be anxious to re-visit those feelings again really soon.

Having my sons, two grandchildren, and both of my parents on this day has been a real blessing, and one I will never forget. Guess I'm going to have to rethink the meaning of Mother's Day.


 

Trance Writing challenges the thought process while disallowing emotion and ego. It is the essence of listening to the inner voice. Today I will attempt to come to terms with my longstanding struggle with darkness' place in my life. I've come to accept that I gave it far too much value and hope this cleansing process I call Trance Writing will help reprioritize the Light in my Life.

You know that feeling. It’s the urge to not agree with the consensus. It’s that itch that you want to scratch, but resist for fear of reprisal. So many of us decide not to make waves …..not to jam the machinery ……not to kill the system. After all, the system has worked for years, right? It was good enough for the last generation, so why not this one. In truth, the system has not worked. It is merely cruising from the same inertia perpetuated by past generations. We tend to think of man’s evolution as an antiquated concept. In terms of the soul, it is essential.

Indigo Children have come to Earth to rise up to the challenge. Their spirits soar and will not be restrained. Cruel irony lies in the fact that they are generally born into families of the systematically synchronized. These environments are unacceptable to the free-spirited Indigos who display their discontent with disruption and edginess. They know there is a better way and they know how to find it. Instead of encouragement, they receive counseling for refusing to conform. Instead of positive reinforcement, they are prescribed medication. Personality-altering drugs that inhibit the free spirit become the norm and restore the system.

There’s a reason these kids don’t succeed by the standards they are forced to accept. They’re not supposed to. They’re here to change it. Change is indeed a slow arduous process that is tangled in endless red tape.

Indigo Children are easy to identify. In a classroom setting, they are disruptive. At a family gathering, they are fidgety and uncomfortable. Alone in thought, they thrive in daydreams. Other indicators might include an aversion to waiting in lines, having difficulty with absolute authority and appearing anti-social. These star children refuse to conform to “guilt discipline” and they’re not shy about letting you know what they need.

There are negative aspects that can manifest. The misunderstood Indigo can spiral into a failure pattern, laced with drug abuse, career indecision and relationship problems.

Some therapists are just now beginning to notice and record the trends these individuals encompass on a worldwide scale. Some are even suggesting that the human condition is evolving on Earth through these children. This idea delves way beyond established conservative thought, but the numbers are growing and one need only go into a pre-school or elementary classroom to estimate the percentages of these misfits. If Spirit was a thing that could be detected by something as simple as color, the majesty of the Indigo aura would shine brightest in any crowded room.

“The Indigo Children - The New Kids Have Arrive” and “Indigo Celebration" (Hay House Publications) by Lee Carrol/Jan Tober, addresses these very issues in depth and answers some difficult questions with regard to diagnosing and treating the symptoms with positive reinforcement.

A sweeping change is underway and Indigos have been given the broom. In attempting to understand Indigos, it may be helpful to accept the fact that we are all spiritually related first and physically related second. These individuals, although existing within their human families, ultimately long for their true place in the universe.





 

I suppose if the reader is paying any attention to the writer of these thoughts, a trend is beginning to emerge here. This author has lived in denial most days as conditioned by the society she has tried fruitlessly to fit into. But of course, ultimately, my soul would not be denied its position. It is the strongest part of me. Thank you, Life.

This revelation began about eight years ago, but has been part of my equation since birth. Claiming my heritage has been expeditious in tracking its progress, as well as other complicated tasks. Swimming upstream against the current was perhaps the most exhaustive task I’ve ever accomplished and has had a residual affect on these human bones. Yet, I’m still standing as a testament to declare it was definitely worth the trouble.

My career choices have given me some latitude in system-busting and have allowed me to follow the creative urgings inside, although dwelling in the materialistic aspects of design can at times be distasteful when an extremely anal client seeks my professional skills. Karma usually steps in and leads me away from those pitfalls. Moving away from city life, jammed with commercialism and materialism, was extremely beneficial also. And music has always been a welcome haven, offering inspiration to enhance the creative process. I often commiserate with the writers, poets and musicians that eternalize their thoughts through omnipresent rhyme and reason. Writing has been my refuge in a raging storm. Trance writing has been my savior in a sea of despair. And now, the waters have calmed, leaving the skills in tact, ready to chart more unknown seas, with my Captain at the helm.

I’m starting to recover from the malady of believing I could save less-enlightened souls. After wasted years trying, I barely escaped that self-induced delusion and the cleansing word is divorce. Apologies to those who have endured my ceaseless spiritual urgings. A soul can be brought to the well, but can never be forced to drink if there is no thirst for enlightenment.

So, here with all the dust settling, I find I thrive most when I don’t fit in. However, standing apart from the crowd is not my goal. Although, my aura is indeed a deep shade of Indigo. I wake to thoughts of shaking the air and causing a ripple in the atmosphere. I want the efforts to succeed and each day learn a bit more of the process. If nothing else, the air does seem fresher lately, pumping my lungs with cosmic oxygen. My veins course with a familiar stellar force and perpetuate my purpose. Recent gazing at the starlit sky allows me to make third eye contact. I often imagine the stars are peep holes that allow a deeper vision from both sides of the nocturnal canopy.

Days and nights merge now into this ceaseless challenge to claim this misfit Life of mine and guide it into the ebb of changing currents. It’s helpful to understand we’re all floating in the same river, but it’s up to us whose vessel we ride in for the journey.


 

Coming to terms with Life entails one aspect I’m extremely uncomfortable discussing - the men in my life.

I’m no femme’ fatale. But my track record with the opposite sex would indicate otherwise. I suppose you could classify my life as a tragedy of errors that has negative affects on the men I‘ve become involved with.

Case in point - the first young man I fell in love with. Sam was a personable, intelligent and affectionate junior when I met him the fall of my sixteenth year. We hit it off right away and he soon became a part of our extended family. It was a sweet, innocent first love - the kind you read about. He gave me his class ring and I had a portrait sitting done at his request. Then just as we were getting serious, he began to withdraw from the relationship with no real explanation. I always thought it was something I had done - until my senior year. That’s when I found out that Sam actually was a resident of a private orphanage on the other side of town. Piecing the puzzle together, I finally realized that he had pulled away from me rather than admit the truth. This fact would have caused me to hopelessly fall further in love with him, but he somehow felt inferior without a family of his own. Did I cause those insecurities?

By the time this had all come out, I was involved in a new relationship. Lee was to become my first lover and husband by the age of eighteen. We eloped to Texas and I was so not ready for marriage. Looking back now, I believe it was more hormonal than anything. And the hormones went off the charts in directions that lead my wandering husband to other women’s beds - incessantly. After six years of trying to make the marriage work for the sake of our son, I finally gave up and threw in the towel. This entailed three separations and years of unhappiness.

Single life made a brief visit after the marriage. I caught up on the dating scene and could be found in the company of any one of six eligible gentlemen on a typical weekend. Staying home on Saturday nights was not an option then. Enter Ed. We connected immediately and I was completely swept off my feet. Within a few months, we were living together. Within a few years, we were in business together. I blinked and we were married (another spontaneous life decision). It was classified as a strategic business maneuver by Ed. He had the head for numbers, and I was the “talent”. What started out as something good quickly changed to profit and loss. Funny thing about making money. The glare of all that green stuff tends to blind a person from the rest of the colors in the rainbow. After uncountable years of perpetuating the illusion of happiness, and another son later, I’ve bid goodbye to my personal accountant disguised as a husband.

There is a point to all of this. It’s the summation. My first love, Sam and I re-connected at a mutual friend’s party several years back. Never stopping to consider his life might still be in turmoil, I blurted, “You were my first love and you broke my heart!” Yeah, it felt good to finally say those words. I saw Sam five or six times after that at social gatherings, and discovered he was in the process of going through a difficult divorce. I wouldn’t allow myself to consider the what ifs since I was married at the time, but did feel some smoldering sparks. A mutual friend later told me he admitted remorse over the way our relationship ended. A few months later, he committed suicide. Did my insensitive remark add to his final days of turmoil?

My first husband, Lee, did make a final attempt to reconcile after I gave up on our marriage. He went so far as to write, compose and sing a love song to me, which I promptly rejected. Later that same evening, he attempted suicide. I felt bad about it, but not guilty. A few years later, he was convicted of a felony and spent seven years in prison. Could I have handled this better?

And now, in ending it with Ed, I walk on eggshells. He’s not handling the divorce well and I’m trying to be compassionate about his feelings. How I deal with this may verify or dispel my concerns about the men that have been a part of my life.

The fact that each of these relationships has left me stronger and wiser does give me reasons to consider why the men in them come out irreparably weaker.


 

I’m going to back up about eight years now. That’s about how long ago I became acquainted with another man. We’ve had our ups and downs, but this guy has stayed with me through my denials, rejections and fits of rage. He’s quite an amazing fellow - rich beyond compare, strong, loyal, a true genius and most of all, patient and loving. Why he ever wanted anything to do with me is beyond my comprehension. I had given him plenty of reasons to flee, and yet he remained a constant in my life.

Gradually, his influences began affecting my daily life. Attitudes, beliefs and priorities began changing inside me. My conscience was something I listened to. And then the praying began. Soon that wasn’t enough. Meditation allowed me to block out worldly distractions and focus even further on the relationship. It intensified to such a degree, I couldn’t even get through one day without talking to him. Soon, my existence began to revolve around the moments I could steal away just to be with him. My family noticed the changes, although I tried to maintain some sort of balance. Things that previously seemed unimportant became paramount; things that were once priorities, dissolved from my life. Nature caught my attention in a big way. In fact, I found various elements of nature to be extensions and gentle reminders of the purity of the relationship. Things like trees, birds, sunrise, sunset and the stars were an essential part of my emotional well being. The eyes of young children reflected life’s innocence and the wisdom of the elderly captured my curiosity.

It didn’t take long for me to re-evaluate my life to provide a permanent place for his presence. The changes were indeed life-altering. Not just for me, but everyone my life touched. I walked away from the only existence I’d known for well over twenty years just so I could breath. I packed up my family, disconnected from my career and moved to a place that revealed the splendor of the stars every night. It was the closest I could get to his home. And for a while, we were pacified. But then I wanted even more of his time.

Just when I thought I couldn’t endure the separation, relief came and the writing began. At first, it was a release - a way to pour my thoughts onto the page and document my deepest feelings. After a while, I began practicing a technique that combined the meditative state with a thought process I call Trance Writing. Countless days and unending nights of focused thought brought forth written words which tapped directly into the meditations. Sometimes the words flowed from my fingertips from unknown places. Other times, I knew exactly where they were coming from - HIM.

I was consumed with HIS love and had to have more. And HE always provided as much love as I was willing to accept. I still find much of my life inadequately qualified for HIS love. But, still HE remains patient and understanding. My LORD: the other man in my LIFE.




 

And Now For Something Completely Different: Happiness.

Since accepting God as My Lord, my world has become less complicated. By rejecting all other aspects of Life that fall short of my clear-sighted goals, what remains is absolute.

Rejecting what is truly unimportant, leaves room for everything else. Brooding about what might or should have been can age a soul and disallow the possibilities for success. Taken a step further, a soul can regress. Starting with a fresh canvas, this artist is inclined to re-invent her style. The brush strokes are all made with deliberate motion and forethought, and yet patterns still emerge that are blueprinted inside. However, subtle highlights and shifting nuances can mean the difference between a masterpiece and a strike off of the original piece.

Most of us seek to control the image that is projected, but fail to realize what rises to the surface is just a facade. The physical aspects of life are often the most deceptive parts of our existence and certainly hold the highest potential for disappointment. At best, it’s a fleeting attempt at perfecting a flawed existence. And yet, life on earth is essentially driven by materialism. Humans are indeed products of our environments. Striving to overcome the human condition is our real task. Desensitizing ourselves to the superficial aspects of life is not an easy process, but does grant a connection to our core identities – the ones we all begin with at birth.

And so what does all of this have to do with happiness? For me, everything. Since coming to terms with my God relationship, I’ve also come to terms with how to nurture it. That means, choosing responsibly who and what I embrace while alive. We all make conscious choices about our priorities every day. It’s easy to believe we are happy, but can we truly feel the happiness? And then the question arises, what makes you happy? Is it conditioned on pleasing other people in our lives? If so, who is really happy? And the extreme of this is selfishness, which also precludes true happiness. Balance is a tricky exercise, however mastering it can be extremely empowering. Once achieved, nothing less will suffice.

So for me, happiness means balance. Now my days and nights are motivated by achieving and maintaining the balance. This makes me happy.


To facilitate this, I most often let God run the show and I follow His lead. When I am unsure of a particular direction, He eventually surfaces to dignify or shun my choices. Validation is quite easy to recognize and disapproval glares like a naked light bulb in a darkened room.

At one desperate time in my life, I literally begged for God to intercede because the situation was intolerable. My prayers were answered with an angel. To my amazement, I soon discovered the angel needed me as much as I needed him. The signs and roadmaps leading to him were fairly obvious. My first instincts buried the truth, yet the truth of the situation could not be denied. So now, this angel and I co-exist in a relationship that strives everyday for the balance – above and beyond everything else.



 

Against all odds, I’ve climbed another rung up a very visible ladder. It’s a ladder that didn’t exist until recently, but none-the-less, it’s one I intend to climb as high as it will take me. Most women in my position would be content to stay grounded, but I‘ve never been like most women. And then there’s the influences of my angel, Trey.

With each wavering step, Trey’s steady hand is extended to offer help with the journey to the next level. And the ladder appears to be strong enough to support us both. Sometimes, I think neither of us will succeed without each other’s support. Other times, I wonder if we’ll both fall flat on our backs in the process.

However, the past four days have offered validation that the task may be worth the effort. It wasn’t a smooth, uncomplicated experience, but unverified notions of happiness were taught lessons in true emotion. Advancing another level on this ladder is indeed a challenge. We both approach it with a level of awareness while blatantly acknowledging several unconventional aspects of our situation. Living in separate states while attempting to forge our commitment to each other merely acts as a catalyst for an already impossible situation. Without the constant reminders of the limitations we face, other aspects that are far more important to both of us are given the room necessary to blossom and grow. When trying to face the social aspects of our apparent differences, a gaze into one another’s eyes dissolves all doubt. And as expected, his weaknesses are my strengths; my shortcomings become his counterpoints. We freely offer each other the sustenance required as a springboard to nurture individual growth.

There are times when I question the wisdom of such a union. Surely, abandoning certain potential conflict would offer respite for a soul such as mine, tired from countless years of Life’s sustained struggles. But the answer soon shows it’s face in the memories of Trey’s loving gaze. Considering his timely existence in my life helps me to cope with the adversity of conventional judgment.

This ladder of ours is something I intend to explore fully. It appears to have dimensional qualities, not always leading straight up. Each rung is comprised of intricacies that are magnified by our presence. Advancing upward prematurely will surely send us back a few steps, so we both tread lightly along the way.

Sometimes we rationalize our differences as our strengths. Certainly, there is a level of truth in that.

Life has provided a ladder
To climb clearly above
A preconceived journey
Toward the existence of love

We pursue with caution
We advance with stealth
Wonderment of youth
Conditions ageless wealth

We rise above the crowd
In a sea of adversity
Praying our path will
Stumble toward ecstasy

Judgment of our journey
No man can ever say
What God has shown pure
Surely has a place to stay

Don’t count our differences
Only see what is right
In the gaze of two lovers
Guided by eternal light


 

This entry will serve as my official rant. I am venting here about comfort zones and the various ways we tend to procure and cultivate them. Fear and guilt have a lot to do with comfort zones, so if you are satisfied with your comfort zone, then you're not going to be happy with this essay. If, however, you find reasons to question this area in your life, perhaps the wisdom of others quoted herein will be helpful in driving home some thoughts.

In the amount of time it takes for the mind to invent a good excuse, the mind could have created an alternative way of achieving a result - rendering the excuse unnecessary.

I guess that could apply to a lot of things in life. Imagine the potential for success if bridges had been built to unify more places that are separated by water. Imagine if more people used their minds as instruments of creation, instead of processors of other people's details.

Fear and guilt are tools. Tools are neutral instruments that can be used for us or against us. A knife can be used to heal or hurt. A hammer can be used to build or destroy. After enough hurt and anger, people tend to decide not to do anything that causes more pain. That would, of course, include any dream-fulfillment behavior. Alan Alda once was quoted on the matter, "You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself."

In the words of Dr. Rob Gilbert, "It's all right to have butterflies in your stomach. Just get them to fly in formation."

We live in a world filled with people who don't know what they want, but are willing to go through hell to get it.

Mark Twain achieved a great many things in life based on his famous words. "Don't go around saying the world owes you a living; the world owes you nothing; it was here first."

We are all built for success, but programmed for failure. "Use your weaknesses to aspire to your strengths," Sir Laurence Oliver was quoted once.

The comfort zone is a subject that begs to be discomforted, just by nature of its very name. It should not be a static thing, but a dynamic area. If you're not consciously expanding your comfort zone, it contracts. Bob Dylan once said, "He not busy being born is busy dying."

The comfort zone knows us intimately and hits us at our weakest point. It wouldn't dream of using an excuse we could see through. It takes our greatest aspirations and turns them into agreeable excuses for not bothering to aspire. In relation, to that, William James once said, "A great many people think they are thinking, when they are merely rearranging their prejudices."

To expand on that thinking, Henry S. Haskins was quoted as saying, "Good behavior is the last refuge of mediocrity."

And although driven by the almighty dollar, the success of Malcom Forbes could be summed up in his belief, "If you have a job without aggrivations, you don't really have a job."

So in summation, I quote the all knowing YODA, "Do or do not. There is No Try."


 

Several months ago I started an In and Out at my Writing.Com portfolio putting out a call for posters to use Spirit Speak and leave some pearls of wisdom. I thought it might be a good idea to document some of the insights that other members of Writing.com have seen fit to share with me and anyone else that stumbles into my portfolio. I find all of the insights listed below to be worthy of consideration in the grand scheme of thought.


“Being that God exists in all and in everyone, the He is never as far away as we think. He is. So, in essence, God is ALWAYS holding us like the Universal Mother and Father that He is.” - trey5winds

“Accepting we are unconditionally is probably one of the profoundest pieces of spiritual work we can undertake.” - pathrhino

“If divine justice is perfect, then anything that benefits you, long haul, than if it works, it’s right; if it’s right, it works.” - jotokai

“When you ask for blessings for someone who has shown unkindness, you will find peace and a change of heart in universal karma.” - sunflower

“Once we understand that everything is part of the All, then we can take joy in knowing that whatever we do, no matter how insignificant it seems, will be something…” - Steve Ellen

“Never let the sun go down on your anger” - Zeke

“The choices we make, dictate our fate.” - MaD

“Angels exist. They are the breeze on a hot day, the sunshine on a cold morning, your lover’s smile, and every other joyful thing that you might have missed. They are angels…Notice them.” - Gemski thanks BeckyLSimpson

“Truth is hidden in the soul. The soul is hidden in a temporary capsule that is abolished over time. It is the constant in life.” - angel_tears

“If you’re still alive, there’s always one more thing you can do. (quote from Laurence Gonzalez). If you’re still alive, you haven’t fulfilled your life’s mission yet.” - Celia-gone for the summer.

“When you die or sleep, your consciousness comes to a complete stop. If you are sleeping, then your consciousness keeps trying to start back up again (dreams) until finally you wake up again. If you are dead, then it doesn’t even try.” - Steven Ellen

.........I am most appreciative to all of the members of this site whom have shared their insights. It is my belief that each one of us holds a piece of life's mysterious puzzle, since the Creator would not be inclined to entrust any one of us with too much of the grand masterpiece. After all, we are only human. Our track record is by nature, a series of miscommuncations. Imagine if we could ever piece the entire puzzle together into one collective energy that each of us could embrace fully. Now that could define a whole new language of Spirit Speak



"Write from your heart.....but first, listen to your soul."-RubyRed
 

I've been riding on a crest for well over two weeks. Having little time to breathe also means even less time to write.

Once in a while, Life calls on a writer to live first and write later. The wise author pays attention to the summons, acknowledging the potential for inspiration. Yes, this does sound like an excuse to fail in honoring my commitment, but perhaps a summation of events past and present might be in order.

Returning home after visiting Trey proved to be a balancing act. Personal and professional commitments battled for control of me and I'm still not sure if the match is over yet. I won't go into specifics other than to acknowledge that it is possible to cover all of ones bases and still get three quality hours of sleep each night. I'm also a firm believer in attitude. It can make or break you. Tell me you don't sense the attitudes of people you encounter and react accordingly.

Professional triumphs exceeded all expectations, but only after laying the arduous groundwork necessary for success. Personal tribulations have tested my backbone and patience levels at a time in my life when I need their cooperation. But this too shall pass. An event last weekend served to weaken already frayed lines of communication with my estranged and soon to be ex-communicated ex-husband. Irrepairable damage was done and now the violater has fled to lick his wounds. I take no responsiblity for the actions of those I am no longer bound to.

Days fade into nights quicker than hourglass has the right to allow. I don't dare blink twice or pause to watch the sunset in silence, fearing the repercussions of such self indulgence.

This experiment in documenting some of Life's milestones can perhaps be classified as an inconclusive hypothesis. I am after all, a work in process.







RubyRed

Write from your heart.....but first, listen to your soul

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