I M Perfect lady

Tag: up

  • Covering Up my Truth.

    I listened to Jane Fonda speaking about her life, and I wasn't able to write it down word for word, but what she had to say struck me.

    How our survival self stands in the way of us growing up and becoming whole.

    I know this is true.  

    She said, "I stepped out of myself to live next door to me, in a shell of perfection."

    This shell is pretending to not be hurt and abused, but to be 'okay' and 'normal'. We have to act like this, in order to maintain the family's image and good front.  It soon becomes who we are, it grows thicker and thicker, the longer we live this way.

    She also said that the tool we use to survive, becomes the tool that is the obstacle for becoming whole.

    I see it as the shell has to be taken down in order to get back to your own self, and this shell is the facade we lived as to be normal and okay.  Removing this wall brings us to our truth.

    Our truth is scary on many levels.  For one it is not accepted by our parents and others who want to remain in their shells.  And it was terrifying knowing that I lived as a shell, but not me. That my truth wasn't who I had lived as.

    I knew my shell much better than I knew who I was and my history.  As a shell I constructed things to look better than they appeared. Friendlier, kinder and more loving.  Outside of the shell it was like all my friends became enemies.

    Yet, without ever leaving the shell of pretend, I would not have grown up…I would have remained stunted and as immature as a child inside; a wounded child.

    It is funny, in a peculiar way, that we believe we can add things to cover up our abuse, and that we can grow around it.  But, in the end, we end up with a pretty, perfect shell, and a yucky inside.

    Our outer appearance can't change how we feel inside.

    This is the mad dance and marathon…forever adding something on the outside to help boost our self esteem.  I couldn't be good enough, smart enough or cute enough to erase the abuse.

    Once I sat down with my wounded child, I was able to begin growing as me.

    No more shells.  

    No more pretending.  

    Instead I began falling in love with me…broken, abused, but real.  

    I loved my real self and had to say good bye to the shell.  

    The shell that helped me survive my childhood had followed me into adulthood.  

    Jane is right, the shell that kept me surviving my childhood, also kept me from being whole and me.

    So in order to become me, I had to leave my shell behind.

    My shell was the shield that kept my real feelings from showing.

    Kept me from pleasing myself, but always pleased others.

    It shielded me from becoming too emotional and loving, from being open and vulnerable.  My soft spot remained behind this thick wall.

    I remember my husband commenting, in the very early days of my father's exposure, that I was like a scared rabbit.  And I was.  I was walking around fully exposed without my shell.

    God, those early days were brutal.  Living life without a shell had me feeling extremely naked…and bloody.  The image of a wound.

    I was walking around as a wound…without a shell. No longer able to pretend that I wasn't abused.

    Until you can heal the wound you are very sensitive…with your nerves exposed.

    Now, I feel my wound is healed.

    Shell long discarded…and I am growing up. 

    My insides are matching my body.

    I no longer am a grown woman, wearing a shell, to cover up my wounded child.

    I am now grown woman who was wounded as a child…who grew up as I mothered my own wound, by no longer covering up my truth.



  • Get us back

    As I was mowing the grass yesterday, I wondered if all Mental Illnesses mean you are not in reality?  That the meaning of being ill in your mind, is when you can't see or be with reality? While there are different stages of not being in reality, are all various degrees… being removed from what is truly going on?

    What I do know from my experience, is that as a child of abuse, IF you can't speak of it, and must hide it, you are forced to live in an alternate reality…you could say forced to make your mind come up with a nicer version of where you live.  And this is the seed that starts our Mental Illness.

    The beginning of being 'sick' with reality.  

    I think many will focus or see "Mental Illness" as a mind that has gone wrong, but not how or what its causes are.  Just seeing it as a broken mind, but not looking at this from a wider viewpoint, doesn't give the overall picture of what it truly means as an application in life?

    Perception is all we change when we are asked to keep a secret.

    We are not changing the person who has abused us, JUST our perceptions of him/her.

    And this change of perception is the cause or being mental in reality.

    What many have suggested to me, is that I went mental, when I flopped into reality and became unmoveable there.  I would no longer 'change my perception' I became rooted in reality, no matter their pleads, their reasons, their needs….I was like a rock.

    I clung to reality like it was my life line and I refused to let go.  

    Now I know that my life prior was a life of mental illness, where a huge proportion of it was lived with incorrect perceptions.

    What I didn't know is that I was a highly functioning mental lady…at the time.  I was not able to know my perceptions were all wrong about my childhood and family.  

    Knowing this is common place after abuse, makes me normal.

    Here is what Terry Wise wrote in her book, "Waking Up".

    "Does not talking about it allow you to become less aware of it?" (Betsy her therapist asked)

    "I guess not," I replied, suddenly realizing that of course, I was always aware of the things that bothered me.  But, prompting a more extensive discussion about my anxiety by admitting this to Dr. Glaser was another matter. "Regardless, it still feels worse to talk about it," I continued."

    "It may feel worse at first, Terry. But, I believe in facing our feelings head on, not running from them. Talking about the anxiety over and over again will give you a different understanding of it.  If you develop a different understanding, you will eventually feel less anxious," Betsy said, attempting to reassure me."

    "Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't hate talking about how I feel," I replied."

    "What feelings do you hate talking about?"

    "Anxiety and loneliness. Even when I am with people, I feel alone."  I soon learned that the more uncomfortable or anxious I became, the more Betsy pushed. What's more, from this session forward, she always knew when to push, as my discomfort was written in red, all over my face."

    "Do you ever remember feeling like this before?" she asked."

    "Like what:" I stalled."

    "Anxious, alone, or anything else you are feeling right now," Betsy sighed rolling her eyes at having to drag every word out of me."

    "Yes, plenty of times. Except for the years Pete was healthy, I've probably felt like this most of my life.  I've never felt so disconnected," I explained.  My face instantly began to flush again.  I had always been an expert at creating appearances, choosing when and where to maintain my composure. That was over.  My anatomy forced my hand."

    "Terry, why are you so anxious? What haven't you told me?" she persisted. I could hardly hear her words over the pound calypso drums that now inhabited the inside of my heart."

    "I don't want to say."

    "Why not?"

    "Because, then it will become true," I replied, surprising myself with the insight.  Until I voiced this answer, even I had never been fully aware of this fear."

    "I don't understand.  Explain that to me," Betsy demanded.

    "Because saying things out loud is different.  If I don't put some of my thoughts into words, I can still hold onto the chance that my beliefs may not be true,"  I explained. Somehow I had deduced that hearing my thoughts aloud could transform a feeling into a reality."

    "But if you talk about your thoughts, maybe there will be a different way to understand them," Betsy suggested.

    "There isn't any other way.  I already understand exactly what I'm feeling. Believe me Betsy, I know certain things about myself, and they are undeniable no matter how you look at them," I insisted."

    "There are always other ways. Terry, do you remember how you felt when I first talked about Louis and the abuse?  You've felt like this before, but after you talked, your perspectives changed in ways that you hadn't perdicted. What are these 'things' that you know about yourself? What are you so afraid to say out loud?"

    "Anxiety throbbed in every organ of my body. Even my tongue felt like it had a heart of its own.  Throughout my adult life, I had numerous experiences with public speaking. Even if I was rattling inside, my complexion had never changed, and I always remained poised.  Now however, I had no choice but to step forward."

    "Mostly its that I am a fraud," I confessed, inhaling deeply."

    "What do you mean?"

    "I'm not the person that people think I am. There is so much about me that people don't know."

    "What don't they know?" Betsy asked."

    "They don't know how I feel about life or myself. Generally, people think I have my shit together, that I am confident, and self-assured. I've scammed everyone into believing that I'm someone I'm not," I answered.

    "So then tell me, Terry, who are you?" Betsy asked.

    "I would rather not say."

    "Why not?"

    "Because, like I told you, once I say it, it will be for real," I repeated."

    "You mean that as long as you don't say the words, how you feel won't be real?" Betsy would not let up for a moment."

    "I suppose," I answered, feeling her reasoning loosen my stronghold."

    "Please Terry.  I want you to tell me what it is about you that you are so afraid to say," Betsy softly pleaded.  Her persistent kindness gave me a final push."

    "I'm selfish and dishonest," I whispered, slowly peeling back another layer of my appearances."

    "Why do you think you are dishonest?" she asked."

    "Because I've alway needed to feel someone worry about me. When I was younger used to pretend or exaggerate things, so that my friends would be concerned. there is definitely something wrong with me." Until the moment the answer rolled off my tongue, I had always planned on taking this "quality" of mine to my grave. I immediately felt my anxiety rise incrementally with every degree of my body tempature."

    "Why do you think that makes you dishonest?" Betsy was surprisingly unfazed."

    "Because, I did those things for attention, and to feel taken care of.  My feelings are not truthful if I embellish them."

    "Terry, I think if we look closely enough at your history, and the people in your life, you would see that others were not always able to give you what you needed.  This isn't a surprise. Obviously, nobody can get every one of their needs met all the time. But, I think what is remarkable is that you found a way to fill some of them.  This does not mean you were dishonest.  it just means you found a way to get what you were missing," Betsy explained."

    "No, Betsy.  I always felt cared for and loved by the people in my life.  I was born with a sickness.  I know it," I insisted."

    "You could have been cared for and loved, while at the same time, had needs that weren't being met.  It's not black or white, or either-or, Terry," Betsy replied.  "What sickness do you think you were born with?"

    "I don't know. There's something wrong with me because I am the type of person that I am, and the attention I crave."

    "What type of person are you?"

    "I finally decided to brave my most private, defining, character flaw. "It's hard to tell you. But, I guess it doesn't matter saying it, or not saying it, won't change the fact that it's true," I began, inching out from behind one of my most private walls of self-condemnation."

    "What Terry? What's the truth?" Betsy softly asked, trying to cushion my turmoil."

    "The truth is that I am a loser."  My mouth felt like it had produced its own sounds."  Terry Wise.

    This book clearly shows the state we get left in when we are not allowed to be with reality….how we flip reality around and in turn it flips us backwards.

    Instead of my father being bad, I was.

    Instead of my mother being unloving, I was unlovable.

    So, again, it is my humble opinion, that mental illness is not being able to be with reality…we were forced into being mental in order to survive and to be loved.

    I highly recommend reading this book…it is a great exchange between those outside of reality and those who work to get us back.



  • Perfect for Me.

    A thought came to mind yesterday as I wondered about the withholding of truths, that perhaps it is the desire to be perfect that stops us.
    We don't want to say things that are upsetting or we don't want to not go along to cause waves so we refrain from our truths to look better, seem more perfect, nicer even.
    Yet in this 'nicer more perfect' mode, we are not feeling that inside.
    Inside the storms rage, the contradictions swell, and it seems like we are split in two…having to wear 'nice' while feelings and emotions as well as knowledge seem to overwhelm the inside.
    Just like pretending you don't have raging reaction to a bad food, where your stomach is turning, sharp pains, nausea, etc…and you continue to have a calm pleasant face.
    Being truthful is to vomit up all what we hold inside, getting rid of the turmoil that is infesting our insides.  And we want to do this in  pleasant non-hurtful manner, or without causing grief…which is impossible.
    The reasons and sources of our angst usually aren't  wonderful experiences, but rather trauma.  Speaking up about trauma will not sound or feel like chatting about the purchase of a new car.  It will hold pieces and shards of pain, hurt, betrayal, fear, anxiety, shock and horror.  It will reduce you to a shaking quacking hurt soul, and you have to explain how you feel.
    We unveil our wounded soul. 
    The same one we had to cover up in order to survive, we now take the chance  of dying in order to speak of it.
    And there is a dying of sorts.  The death of the survival person, the one who lived pretending the abuse didn't happen.  This survival person is who people liked, who got along, who was 'nicer' and 'kinder'….and we are afraid that the truthful person will be annihilated.
    In my case it happened.  My survival self (the pretending trauma didn't live in my body) was accepted and my truthful self rejected.
    Being rejected for being my truthful self felt like being abused a second time around, but this time aware and fully present…And this time, I didn't have the the body's natural survival mode of "Disassociation"….I wanted to feel this, to accept this, to acknowledge this, to honor this IN order to now live in reality.
    I wasn't willing to revert back to my childhood ways of living a life inside that was totally different from my presentation to the world.  
    This time, what I feel inside matches the features on my face or my actions and often times, non-actions.
    I no longer care if I am perfect for you, I am always perfect for me.
    " The First Casualty of Dysfunction is truth" Carl Huhta

  • Reasons to Spin

    While dialoguing in the comment section on the Post, “Where Your Best Interest Lies” a few posts back, I am feeling like I am a reporter trying to get my story out and they are working like crazy Spin Doctors or the Public Relations Department of the FALC to prevent that from happening. 

    They are trying so hard to convince me it wasn’t their ‘faith’ or the church or its members or any of that religious stuff, and that my abuse stands alone, like a rogue virus.

    I feel people are working so hard to spin my story off into this lonely little section called abuse where religion never touched it, blessed it or had ANY thing to do with my abuse. 

    There is abuse, AND there is religion and never shall the two touch each other.

    It is sounding like a political debate where they want there to be two sides. 

    And I am here to tell you in my experience, Religion had a huge part in keeping abuse in my family home.  It did not stay there on its own and without the knowledge of the church.

    There is no way I can speak of my abuse without including the church. 

    In fact, if I had good faith in the forgiveness of sins, I could have had a normal dad.

    If I had good faith in the power of the forgiveness of sins, the sins would be washed away never to be heard from again…

    Maybe you all want to blame my weak faith on the fact that my father kept abusing little girls.  For damn it IF only I could have believed more deeply he could be washed whiter than snow and not hurt one more little girl.

    Do any of you know what it is like to call your childhood friends, now 40 years later and say, “I wish you would not have been my friend, for honey it cost you way too much.”

    Have you?

    Do you know that I recall one bright memory of me being on a huge white pole swing in our yard on a bright sunny summer day, and my dad came to me crying asking ME for a blessing.  Why?  What did he do to this young young little girl whose feet couldn’t even touch the ground.  What???  I don't know if I did it properly…I was way too little. 

    Did I not bless him properly?  Did I not believe it, IS that why he continued on molesting, raping and fondling little girls?  Was my faith to weak in strength to erase it correctly?

    Am I going to hell for being a bad blesser???

    When you question my story, you are saying to me, that I am wrong. Tell me where I am wrong?  Tell me, please and USE your name.

    I believed in a father.

    I believed in a mother.

    I believed in the power of the forgiveness of sins.

    I believed in order to be good, I had to bless bad people.

    I believed wrong…

    And did my ‘faith’ in the forgiveness of HIS sins spare one little girl?  Did it?  Can you put the blame on me?  Did I bless him wrong???

    Oh yeah my faith is weak now, it is actually nonexistent in the power of forgiving and blessing away the sins of the fathers.

    Yes it is.  I believe 100% that it does not work. 

    I am living breathing proof. 

    Where do you all believe these piles of sins are?  Look behind you they walk with you everywhere.  It is only in your mind, that you think they are gone.

    Each and every action you have made is written down in the book of reality seen by God…nothing gets erased ever.

    The only thing you can do is do better when you know better. 

    In the past, I was a good Christian and spoke of it not, not my feelings of terror towards my father, nor my deep down resentment towards my mother, I sucked in and asked to be blessed for being such a bad child to feel unloving toward her parents. 

    I kept trying to be a better child, never even stopping to see if I had parents I should be loving toward. 

    When my father’s name was spoken as being the one to molest my niece, I became a very bad child.  I stood with the little girl and somehow I knew I was standing with me. 

    I stood in reality and refused to bless it away, like I even could.

    This little girl isn’t going to be ‘unabused’ if I utter the magic phrase.

    I am bad, a bad ass, and a bitter, cold, vengeful woman some say.  I will be alone and lonely for saying what I say.  I will be ridiculed and not believed…all the same things I felt as a child.

    As a child I believed them, now as woman who is speaking her truth I do not.

    I have faith in God and me.

    I have faith in truth.

    I have faith is using my real name.

    I have faith in others who can reveal themselves to me.

    The rest, I have no faith in.

    For if you can’t say your name, you are not standing with me, you hiding like my father behind the front of being normal.  Good people don't hide.

    Only those in truth will say their name.  This is my belief and this is my blog.  If you feel differently you can blog yourself and have a great conversation and sharing anonymously.

    Oh and one more thing.

    Someone mentioned I lost the faith in God.

    No honey, God has been with me all along.

    He was the one who erased my memory of the event.

    He kept me being a little girl with out such a horrific thing to remember.  And did however keep my truth in my body, to keep me from going near the man who did such awful things to such a sweet innocent BELIEVING girl.

    Your church doesn’t own God; he is not applauding your spinning my story to make it kind.  He was there and he knew I would not have survived life living in that house with a visual memory, sadly I would have went insane.  Only a child who didn’t know could support that family. 

    I didn’t know… and I put my faith in the folks who were spinning my life to be normal.

    Now I am no longer fooled by the spins, I only see what is behind. 

    Only anonymous have reasons to spin.

     

     

  • I blame you too.

    In the past two weeks, I have been trying to glean the attention of the Detective in order to pass on suspicious names, names we keep hearing repeatedly from different circles all having to do with criminal sexual abuse with children. Names being spoken in three states, and ‘rumors’ that have been passed around within the inner circles of the FALC, but haven’t made it to the outside.

    I am on the outside and willing to share what I have been hearing and would like to encourage others to join my voice.

    What keeps these pedophile machines working is our silence.

    If you have memories or odd memories or have feelings that directly oppose the image being presented, that is a flag. 

    We fail to understand that we don’t have to have a succinct blow-by-blow account of an abuse interaction, but instead we each add our portion of evidence to build the case.

    My evidence against my father was the fear and terror that cursed through me in his presence, as well as no memories of my childhood, or just the odd ones. 

    My father did nothing, unless it included little girls.  He wasn’t taking my brothers on ‘special car’ rides.  He who did nothing in the house to help out, began wanting to make Sunday dinners, when granddaughter’s were born….  He who never went to church or even acted within the confines of their rules, Used the Forgiveness of sins to keep erasing his ‘sins’ of abuse. 

    All those things had a theme and makes sense for a pedophile, but goes against his otherwise behavior.  He never was a family man, making plans, being involved, nor did he take my mother on dates, but little girls…he paid attention to.

    That is a Huge Flag. 

    The Greek Definition of Pedophile is Child Friendship. 

    If you see an adult man or woman who is having exclusive, or almost exclusive and exhaustive efforts for one particular sex or age group, your antennas should be rising.

    We fail to look for the grooming process, the charismatic and excited engagement with children as well as seeing the changes in the child.

    Mostly, I thought you needed child’s behavior to be suspicious, but the authorities can work this backwards as well, by being alerted to odd behaviors in adults.

    What I also came to find out is that my mother’s friends were married to pedophiles as well.  It truly does seem that birds of a feather flock together.  

    Here is another thing, I did not hear of other pedophiles, for I was the one of the ones they were talking about.  I was clueless to the signs for I was the sign. 

    I was the walking billboard.  I had all the earmarks needed to show what a child who has been abused looks like, acts like and is.

    There seems to be two drastically different behaviors exhibited; one that you are a people pleaser, a self less person, you are the co-dependents dream come true…you can’t make a decision unless others agree, you live for them or for approval outside you never have an opinion outside of the group. I have said, “I was a whore for love and peace…” their love and their peace, no matter the cost to my self.

    And the other is promiscuous behavior.  Willing to be self less as well, but with your body in sexual ways.  Having zero boundaries or respect for your own self.  Casual sex…sex without loving committed friendship and honor.

    I was a member of the FALC, I was born into the religion, my mother is a devote member and I presumed since my father wasn’t one (unless he needed to get blessed and get the the anger to dialed back..), we were an oddity.  Our family was a rare one within the church.

    However, I am now finding out even if our bloodlines and lineage is has no history within the FALC, we were not the exception as much as the rule.

    I suppose there are a few folks in there, who have never heard of any abuse within, but in my experience, I haven’t met one yet. Although, to be fair, I haven’t talked to them all, but the lineage of abuse is appalling.

    And here is what I know for sure. The only way this can continue is with the silence of many. 

    The greatest threat to pedophiles is for our voices to unite, for our stories to join together to form piles of evidence that will equal the volumes of wounded children.

    If you can’t speak from personal experience, you can speak of what you heard about someone.

    In my case, the detective couldn’t believe the amount of people who knew. Yet only one had the courage to speak. And that one voice alerted us all to a pedophile in our midst.

    I am asking for you to reveal suspicious behavior…not just a blow by blow account.  I am asking you to stop playing in the rumor mill, but be the one to take the information out and bring it to the authorities.

    Here is the addresses where your letters can be written for people in the Copper Country.  You will notice the fact that I am skipping the State Police, for the detective there is a member of the FALC.  It is my personal opinion and choice to leave it out.  I also left off the Keweenaw County Sheriff for he too is a member of the FALC.

    Houghton County Prosecutor

    Michael Makinen – Phone # 906-482-3211

    401 East Houghton Ave.

    Houghton, MI 49931

     

    Houghton County Sheriff  Brian McLean   

    Detective Tom Rosemurgy – Phone # 906-482-0055 (for both)

    403 East Houghton Ave.

    Houghton, MI 49931

     

    FBI – Detroit Field Office

    Phone # 313-965-2323

    477 Michigan Ave. 26th Floor

    Detroit MI, 48226

     

    It is my hope, that our generation will be the one that speaks out and breaks the chain.  It is beyond what the mind can hold, that a religion is shielding criminal sexual abuse.  And it will not stop due to our “not” talking out about it.  Believe me, I only wished it was just my family, that we were the exception not the rule, but also believe me people, it is running unchecked into this generation of little ones…they are us, they are taking the first footsteps in abuse, and we are the adults now to end it.

    I have heard from families who were told, “not to go near my house/father”….that was they way they dealt, just stay away. 

    Well, them staying away, the good people staying away, gave my father unlimited and unfettered access to all the little girls.  Adults too afraid to speak up to afraid to do anything left the little girls to deal with my father…and they did, they gave their little spirits and souls to a man who ate them up. 

    No adult took what they knew to the authorities.

    Many want to just blame my father, but if you knew, I blame you too.

     

     

     

  • The soul that lies beneath.

    Julia Cameron writes in The Artist’s Way…

     

    ”Conditioned as we are to accept other people’s definition of us, this emerging individuality can seem to us like a self-will run riot.  It is not. The snowflake pattern of your soul is emerging. Each of us is a unique, creative individual. But we often blur that uniqueness with sugar, alcohol, drugs, overwork, underplay, bad relations, toxic sex, underexercise, over-TV, undersleep – many and varied forms of junk food for the soul…”

     

    I have never thought of overeating or any of the above as being junk food for the soul. That most of the things that are bad for the body is also bad for our souls.

     

    They blur our uniqueness, keep us living in with a fuzzy image of who we are, what we want, what we feel and where we heading, and above all, make it hard for the soul to shine through.

     

    In fact all the bad habits keep the soul from shining through and yet we believe we need these habits, we literally crave them, and what they are is a black out curtain for the soul.

     

    It is odd to me that we crave what keeps us from being our whole soulful self, and that we want the stuff that darkens who we are.

     

    Perhaps we want to darken our reality.

     

    We want to shut the shades on what is in order to survive…instead of taking actions to remove ourselves from situations in real life, we drape a curtain so we don’t have to see.

     

    It is amazing to me that we become so accustomed to living a life with a darkened drape, that we have no idea how to live a life without them.

     

    Julia Cameron is gently telling us what stands in the way from being you. What items we do to not be alive, aware and unique.

     

    By removing the junk food from our lives we can see what they were covering up.  The more we crave and hold on to things that are not good for our souls, the more chances there is big stuff we are not wanting to see, feel or respond to.

     

    For me, my big mess was revealed first.  I saw a whole life that I had no clue was going on underneath my dark curtain of denial, of self-numbing or fuzzy blurring of reality, and I then had to start eliminating things that contributed to the blanket of dysfunction.

     

    This blanket of dysfunction lived my life for 46 years, a thick layer of stuff that my soul was unable to shine forth through.

     

    It is surprising the difference between living as the dark curtain or the soul that lies beneath. 

    Smug mug pics 1003 
    This is one of my first quilts after the revealation of my big mess….and you can see the sliver of gold, which is the soul trying to emerge.  I called this the Soul Lost.  I now have a better understanding of this quilt 6 years or more later!

  • Supporting Me.

    Listening to Eve Ensler on the Ted Conference about Security was amazing. I know she is right, that those of us who lost our security are the ones who will actually take the steps to make a difference.

    With nothing left to lose, we lose nothing.

    We can speak up and speak against what we suffered, our strength and courage comes from all that we lost and have experienced.

    We become strong when we can speak up as to spare another.

    My voice isn’t always accepted, my truths are not easy to hear, yet who better to listen to than one who has already been there?

    Inner security knows you can survive for you have.

    I am secure in knowing there is no security.

    It can’t be bought or orchestrated, life happens.

    Like Byron Katie, I am comfortable now in the don’t know life, where before I had rigid boundaries of knowing and in the end all the knowing I knew were proven wrong.

    Now I have security in the Universal power supporting me.

  • Giving up Control

    I thought this blog was over when I had the realization that my daughter had my unconditional love, that when I hopped on the back of “Mr. Heart is as big as a House, that I completed my journey, that all I had to do was ride along, ducking when the shit hit the fan….

    Nope, that isn’t it at all.

    The second part of my ride has just begun.

    I now know where I have been, what techniques I use for love and how and when to apply them, when I take out my tackle box and get busy.

    It is each and every time a mess arrives and IF the mess is in someone’s life I love, well, get the hell out of the way, I am going in.

    I slip off, okay I jump off the motor bike and leave my world behind, I roll up my sleeves pull out my tongue, engage my mental mind and I am in your business up to my neck, and Mr. Big as a House heart rides alone.

    And here’s the deal when I leave Mr. Big Heart, I leave my own heart, my own love and passion and become stuck in the quick sand of your life.

    That is what I do, Miss Mental Lady loves to play in your lives, your world, and moves around and the more she moves the more stuck she gets, it is indeed like quick sand.

    What I need to do most is close my eyes, shut my mouth, and enjoy the ride.

    If I am riding along and holding on and letting the Universe lead, I cannot be responsible, I cannot just jump into lives unasked, unsolicited…oh my God what a meddlesome woman, an unwelcome intrusion.

    How much can you decide if someone is in there deciding it for you? Who needs a mind if my mental mind is coming to your rescue?

    I know that Michael Brown of the Presence process says, “If you pick someone up, when you put them down, you put them back where you found them.”

    While we think we are saving, we are delaying or stealing their lessons.

    My job, my only job as I can see it now is to hold on to my business, my world, my joy, my love, my life and to gracefully sit silently looking upon my daughters and any other.

    I had said to my mother, “Silence is the kindest thing I can offer…” Silence and a loving heart is the best of me I can offer, if my mind gets involved we are off to the races, the struggle of you running your life or me running your life.

    Pick one.

    If I don’t pick running my life, I have learned nothing.

    I am back.

    I am in my business.

    Whew, another close call…

    I am holding on Universe…here we go!

    I keep forgetting I am not driving! UGH…
    Backseat drivers only annoy whose driving.
    It is best to sit back quietly and enjoy the ride.

    The second part of this blog is me learning to walk the walk
    of giving up control…

  • Confines of a Well

    There seems to be two perceptions.

    The Perceptions with choices and the perception of no choices or the perceptions of freedom or the perceptions of limited and no choice.

    And depending upon which land you occupy you will have a life that reflects that.

    I lived in both places. The first being the dark narrow hole of perception that I was frozen in, where I had to do what others wanted of me, where my life was led by the wishes of others, I had no free will of my own.

    We can call it a victim hole, and its perception is very one way, or co-dependent, where the quality of my life depended upon another.

    The perception in that land was very limited and the quality of life was at the mercy of another’s good will.

    It was from that darkness I fell out of onto the land of wide open expanse and freedom, where my strings to others were untied, where I was able to walk freely and express myself freely, where the victim chains that held me in place fell free.

    It was equal to walking out of Plato’s cave or the story in Sogyal Rinpoche’s book The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, about the frog who climbed out of the well to see the ocean.

    It is like your constraints and perceptions shatter into a million fragments, where you now have access to an unlimited choice.

    There is no common ground between the two worlds.

    I feel that I lived in a place where my boxes of choices were not available to me.
    It seems incredible to me now that I didn’t have access to my own box of choices that I waited for someone to tell me what to do.

    Imagine the difference of perceptions to having access to your own choices or not.
    Living, as a prisoner in your own life is pure hell, its living in a dark well and not knowing what freedom exists outside.

    So while I agree perceptions are a choice, it is way hard to phantom that inside the well.

    If you disagree that perceptions are a choice perhaps you best look around where you are living and see who holds your box of choices.

    You will either find the freedom of the ocean or the confines of a well.

  • Gateway Into Self

    A blog called, Brave Girls Club, has a wonderful story about wearing signs, or the lack there of at;

    http://www.bravegirlsclub.com

    As I pondered which signs I am hiding or what I am not revealing it occurred to me that a sign was hung upon my neck, when my father’s truth hit the daily news.

    His past hung heavy around my neck.

    A sign I did not want to wear.

    His sign and my sign were puzzle pieces, they went together, he was a pedophile and I was his victim.

    Yet the sign wasn’t hung upon me until a niece spoke up and her words matched my feelings, and now I had a sign as proof.

    What an awkward, clumsy, shameful, disgusting sign, I had to wear.

    It was this sign that all turned away from, old friends became strangers, acquaintances dodged me, my sign didn’t fit into many relationships.

    The sign entered into the room before me, it over shadowed any cute outfit I wore, there was no way to hide or dress it up, It was exposed.

    Sadly some signs are not given the same considerations as most.

    In the first blushes of wearing this sign, I stood alone.

    Me and my new sign not knowing how to stand, to walk and carry myself with this new found history, I soon seen how I was someone to steer clear of.

    It is so interesting that some signs gain many friends and tons of support, while other signs are shunned and feared, their darkness too dark to approach.

    Standing up in those early days, with the weight of the devastation upon me, the sign nearly collapsed my spirit.

    Surprisingly that by having had to walk alone, I have more strength, not less.

    I still wear my sign, it will not go away, it and I are one, my past is me, and I am it.

    Some signs are the gateway into self.