Post 237: Your Words

Sometimes the hardest thing about blogging is the readers’ comments.

When I read comments, in fact when I read any words, each word resonates energetically with me.

For the most part, some 99.5 percent of the comments I read on this site are supportive and kind. But there is always that half percent, that few that seem to rise above the rest, like serpents from the murky waters, and shatter what joy was carried with their jagged teeth and rugged scales of anger.

I can feel the anger in certain words. I can feel judgment, dismay, demise. I can feel jealousy, confusion, and mental clutter. I can feel some need to challenge, fight, or crush.

I have to remind myself that others’ words are not a reflection of me. I have to shake myself much like a dog, and flick away all the leech-like fear seeded in some comments.

I have to remember whomever writes words that are not beneficial to my spirit is in desperate need of hope and love. I have to remind myself that their pain is my pain. And the best I can do is to pray for the individual. To visualize the person finding support, clarity, and a release from whatever holds him or her prisoner.

Your Words

Embrace

Reject

Hurt

Enchant

Love, love, love

Pierce

Words from air

Words from mind

Words that soar out

To feed upon

To enrich

All these words

Souls

Dancing on the pages of my endless sky

Like clouds at sundown

Fading after their last performance

Some bleed upon the horizon

Seep into the waters

Some drift away

Ideally

What words

Must I scribe

To show the power

Of word essence

How spirit

How position

Oozes out of letters

And finds substance

Format

Life

With hands that harvest or hold

Create

Anything imagined

Inside this heart of mine

Post 236: I BE RED!

I BE RED!

Yes, me!

I’m telling myself this, again:

For you Little Sam.

For no one else.

Post whatever you want.

Write whatever you want.

This is for you.

Stop doing everything for the world.

Stop thinking about the observer, the outsider, the watcher.

The only person looking

Is YOU!

So, post your hair if you want to!

Materialistic

Stupid

Silly

Waste of people’s time….

Seriously.

For someone who tries so dang hard not to judge others

You sure judge yourself harshly

all the time.

Let’s stop that.

Okay?

Just Be.

Stop worrying about results

About thoughts

Yours and theirs.

The key is to unlock the inner critic

Then you can unlock the outer

Love yourself like you love your dearest friend

Be gentle

Be kind

And most of all

Live

My dear heart

Live!

Post 235: Halo Gone

I had a halo this morning:

I wrote a short post about it.

And received wonderful, wonderful comments.

Then logic set in.

At first I thought a bug flew around my head really fast before I took the photo of me with my I-Phone.

Nope.

A couple of hours later, after some reflection, I got the keen idea to go take some photos without me in the bathroom.

Would the pink light still be there?

Yep!

It has to do with the way my bathroom light bulbs reflect in the room.

Sigh. No halo.

No angels.

So panic set in.

I couldn’t be presenting myself as having a halo or little pink angels, when in actuality they were light bulb filaments reflecting in my bathroom.

I had to delete the post ASAP.

That’s how my mind works…and body responds. Any form of dishonesty, even unintentional or accidental, or not really even dishonesty to begin with but a mistake, and I FREAK and go into repair/fix mode.

So I deleted the original post for 235 of my tiny pink angels.

Sigh.

Deep breath.

Shaking off unneeded guilt and fret.

Then I had more time to think.

I may not have a halo that I can visibly catch on camera.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t have one.

And it doesn’t mean those little lights weren’t a message of sorts.

For a couple of hours, I was a believer again.

For a couple of hours, I thought I was protected and loved.

For a couple of hours, I thought I was special.

And then I realized…..

It wasn’t for a couple of hours

It’s been a lifetime

With or without proof

 

 

My mother used to work for Virginia Satir. This old plaque hangs in my kitchen. 

(My husband says: “Maybe that halo is yours. It just stays there in that spot!”—hopeful soul.)

Post 234: Demons, Darkness and the Light

Demons, Darkness and the Light

You know those days, or time periods, when a bunch of crap just starts to happen, kind of like you’ve dropped an explosive device down the deep stench of the outhouse and a volcano of poop is erupting?

Do you know too that moment when you can step back away from the ego-self and observe your own being, while distancing yourself from the mess that in reality is an illusion? How you can then, with decisive and heartfelt action, breathe in what appears to be filth and smell only succulent roses?

I’m stepping back. And I’m admiring the wonders of this experience labeled life.

I gather I’m under attack of some sort. Whenever I am entirely honest and come from a place of pure truth, as I did in my latest writings, something always counters me.

I don’t mean to sound “far out there” or “super spiritual,” but truth be told, I’ve been countered since I was a young child. And I’ve been placed in events that have directly challenged my strength of will.

By the age of nine, I’d undergone losses of grand proportion, including the loss of two fathers, one through my mother’s second divorce, a man I’d never see again, but once when I was almost an adult, and the emotional loss of my biological father, whom, for the majority of my childhood, I only saw a few days a year. I suffered the loss of my kindergarten teacher when she died of cancer. I suffered the loss of my best friend in kindergarten, Keith, who moved to Hawaii. I suffered the loss of my step-sisters and step-brothers, when our family broke apart; they being the only siblings I ever had. I suffered the loss of my best buddy of three years, who was more liken to a sister, because she was the daughter of my mother’s boyfriend, and I spent most nights and weekends in the same bedroom as her—lost her when her mother “kidnapped” her one day; the last day I ever saw her. I suffered the loss of pets that I would foretell dying in my dreams. I suffered the loss of childhood with the complexity of my thoughts, and an understanding of the vastness of the universe and consequences of social norms, that far surpassed the thinking of most adults. Suffer I did. And all before the first decade of my life reached completion.

I teeter not upon the other violations I experienced, choosing not to go into detail, but instead say that along with the losses, predators found me, and made me victim.

At the age of ten, life didn’t get easier, in fact the trials continued, one after the other, without pause for retreat, without rest, without rescue.

I grew into a woman matured in an untimely fashion by the pangs of this world. I grew into a child, who born sensitive and hyper aware of the spiritual world, became hyper afraid of the earthly world. My fear manifested itself into a grandiose, potentially explosive, bang of illusion associated with death and illness. Everything imaginable was out to destroy me. Who implanted this seed, I do not know, but it remains to this day my greatest internal weed, with thoughts of my demise recycling and winding through my mind sometimes emotionally choking me up to a few hundred times hourly. How to stop this fear has been my quest since I was nine. I have truly died a thousand and one deaths, each minute reminded of my mortality and fragility.

The only thing that stops the thoughts is being immersed in a fixation or passion. The issue then becomes that I am escaping the present to avoid my thoughts, and in fact not really here at all.

I have grown tired of this battle. So very weary.

In truth, I have traveled a tiresome path of challenge after challenge, emotionally, physically, mentally and spiritually. I have been persecuted at all levels.

At age elven, I would awake to demons dragging me down my bed or to the hell fires roasting my body. I’ve been visited by spirits I would call “evil.”

My father had told me as a teenager, when I’d undergo the extreme nightmares, the visitations, the precognitive dreams, and such, that I was a beacon on a hill and that my bright light would attract the good, but with this, I would also attract the bad. I believed him. I still do.

My outer-body experiences started when I was very young. I would wake up trapped in my own body, able to see everything about me and hear, but unable to open my eyes. My father could leave his dream state and body, travel to another room in the house, and upon awakening tell all of what he saw and heard.

For me, I have visions, I see what will happen, or what might happen. I see car accidents, deaths, tragedies, sufferings, and sometimes, though rare, cause for celebration.

There was a time, I sat alone in a room with my father, and when he asked, “Can you tell me what you see when looking at me? And I responded, “Yes, to your right, there is a demon there, sitting and trying to control you.” And my father answered, “Yes,” pointing to the exact spot I mentioned.

Again, another time, my father said to look in a mirror at the end of his hallway and tell him what I saw. I told him a green like lizard-like alien with yellow-orange eyes, and he again responded “Yes; that is what I see.”

My father is quite sane. With the whole of my heart, I believe he was not inventing things. He is above all else extremely honest, blunt, and direct. I fear, though, he still has that demon sitting at his side.

In his house I was never safe. When I lived with him during my college years, I was always frightened to sleep under his roof. I would hear “get out” when I entered his bedroom, though no one was home. And strange events happened, like the television turning on by itself and flicking channels or a spirit holding me at night using the exact same words to speak to me as she did to my father.

“Oh her. Yes, I know her. She comes to me at night in the same way,” my father would say.

Once a well-known and established religious sect tried to recruit my father, based on his connection to the spiritual world. “Quickly, come here,” father would hear, before stealthy escaping the waiting area. “We found one of them!” Them referring to psychic and able to astral project.

With all the challenges and arguably unusual (and sometimes unspeakable) occurrences in my life, I’m growing tired of what I see as servitude through sacrifice. I definitely feel as if I have the soul of a martyr. I say this with no pride.

I tried for many years to heal my soul, to fill some gap or hole, so to undergo a life of simplicity and easiness.

I’m quite the expert in mankind’s current way to better one’s self, and quite the expert on the shortcomings of such solutions.

I’ve come to the conclusion that my soul and personhood does not need fixing.

I am realizing that the most advantageous action for me to take is to continue to be authentic and shine my light. To continue, regardless of the consequence, to be truthful in my personal experience.

I am listening to my angels.

I’ve been called since I was little to help. First with animals, later with the elderly, homeless, non-English speaking immigrants, and children, and now female adults.

Being called to help and shine my light for no other intention but to help is just who I am.

I think, no I know, I scare some people. They just don’t get me.

They don’t understand why I do what I do.

Why I write or have this drive to reach people.

They don’t understand honesty.

They don’t understand goodness.

Post 233: Cluttered….God….and all things Sam

After spending almost four weeks housebound from a powerful virus, I am feeling re-birthed and hopeful, and so very grateful for the energy to move off the couch.

Although I am still processing, I am making some keen observations. Naturally, being idle for a month gave me ample time to think and re-digest my thoughts.

I know now, that prior to my illness, a lot of stagnant energy was kindling inside.

For the last several months, I had felt pulled in many directions, but pretended I did not.

I fooled myself.

I told myself I was at peace and happy, but I was not.

I told myself I was on the right track, even though I felt adrift and lost.

I pushed myself forward and pulled myself.

Everything felt forced and contrived.

I fell into the trap of fixation and obsession.

And into the trap of people-pleasing.

I used my tendency to hyper-focus to escape life.

I see now that in blogging, I was putting pressure on myself to come up with “worthy” posts. I couldn’t write something simple or fast. I had to “prove” to others I was worthy.

I also placed a burden of responsibility on myself to “help” others through example.

I was under extreme pressure, at times, to perform.

No one ever made me feel like I had to act a certain way or produce a certain output. I did it all to myself.

Like in the past, I thought I had to show people I was good enough.

Later, when I took photographs, again, I thought of outsiders and onlookers. Was my photo good enough?

Logically, I could analyze the pressure I was putting on myself, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know how.

My walking, too, I turned into a game of unworthiness. I believed that if I didn’t keep walking five miles a day that I would become undesirable to anyone. I told myself that if my husband were to pass, then I would forever be alone. I told myself to be loved I had to be better. I had to be prettier. I had to be sexier.

I truly thought I’d outgrown some of these self-defeating patterns.

Obviously my spirit took note.

Illness.

In the later part of 2010 and early 2011, I hyper-focused on spirit and self-growth, reading one hundred plus spiritual/religious texts.

When that fire dimmed, I focused on returning to college.

When that avenue was closed, I turned to the outer me: my physical body.

The thing is I was never balanced in all my endeavors.

Always there remains this lopsided excess energy exerted into a self-limiting passion.

I am set to self-destruct.

Inevitably I awake from some dream-state and realize I haven’t been present. I haven’t been living.

Balance is the key. Unfortunately a key I have not been able to find.

Until now.

Until this sickness.

I feel like I don’t have to prove anything to anyone through my writing.

Though, I’m still insecure, I accept this about me.

I may always be insecure.

But I’m starting to realize there is a grace and humility in being me.

And even in my state of wondering and need for validation and confirmation of my worth, I am  enough.

I am good.

I am okay.

I am tired of trying to be something or someone.

Tired of trying to improve someone who is already divinely perfect.

So for now, I’m letting go of the fight.

I recognize my new “fixation” is obsessive cleaning, de-cluttering, and organizing. Not a bad fixation to have in the scheme of things, if I say so myself.

But I am not fighting.

I am not pulling myself down with guilt.

And I am naturally finding some balance.

I am turning again to practicing being in the present and living in the moment without the need to control—especially without the need to control myself.

I am returning to where I was in 2010, when I was awe-inspired by meditation, chanting, spiritual reading, energy-healing, and the like.

But I am returning more balanced.

As I move into this new month of October, I am recognizing a seasonal change in myself.

Despite the physical anguish and mental suffering, I am thankful for the time of reflection I was forced to encounter through my illness.

I was made to be still, too weak to escape into anything but my own thoughts and sleep.

I’m starting to rebuild the fire of self-love, passion, and love of life within me. Only this time, I have gathered the kindling and wood to burn for only me. Not for the world. Not for someone outside myself. But for the beautiful being I am. The one who is never afraid to admit her struggles, her challenges, and character-building “imperfections.”

And I’m reconnecting to my higher power, that I choose to call God and Jesus. It’s nice to go home again. To be held in unconditional love, and know all will be okay.

Love and Blessings,

Sam

A paper I’ve had since I was a teenager. (During my panda bear collecting years, e.g., sticker.)

The power of words poster I had on display in my study.

The candles I light to reflect and heal.