6/29/12 Fear

I have lived a life of fear.  In recent years, I worked hard to overcome my fears and yet, still, when I have an uncomfortable thought, my throat tightens, my brows draw together with concern, my arms feel weak, my neck tenses, my heartbeat accelerates, I feel slightly dizzy.  Fear, the dis-abler, the thief of sleep, the time and energy waster.  I am facing a fear right now - actually, three.  One is a fear of lack - that I won't have what I need when I need it. One is a fear of loss - a loss that I don't even know will happen.  One is a fear of time - that I won't accomplish what I want in the time I want to accomplish it.


I cannot remember a time when fear, and its companion worry, were not part of my daily life.  I believe my deep roots in fear started when I was three months old and my mother died.  Maybe that baby did not feel fear as I do now, but I am sure she felt loss and perhaps confusion.  When at the age of four my father and step-mother separated, I remember that the little girl felt loss, confusion, sadness and, by then, fear.  Growing up, I did not think the loss of my mother affected me much.  Sure, my life was different than other children's because I did not have a mom, but I was fine, I was strong, I did not need a mother. It was not until, as an adult, I understood that the loss of my mother created an insecurity in me that translated into everything I did or thought.  I feared loss more than anything.  I held on to people, situations and things that were no longer needed and often not beneficial for me. I feared change of any sort and longed for a sense of continuity, solidarity, comfort, and security.  In my mind, security could only come from consistency.  I loved routine.  Being in a rut was comfortable for me.  Knowing what I was going to do from hour to hour was reassuring to me.  In my rut, I felt as though I were in control.  Life could not surprise me because I was in control.  No one could hurt me because I was in control.  Except, I wasn't.  I tried to be, but there is no way to control life. You can try and try, but you cannot control everything that happens every moment.  And, that is when fear sets in. 


As soon as something felt out of control, as soon as an unexpected or unwanted change occurred, as soon as someone followed a different script, the scary physical results of fear would begin.  I had lost control - well, the illusion of control.  I could not predict what would happen.  I had to worry.  Worry was the only alternative because worry would put me back in control - or so I convinced myself.  Worry replaced sleep, food and recreation.  I not only worried myself, but wanted everyone else around me to worry.  What is wrong with them?  Why aren't they worried?  How can they sleep when there is so much to worry about?  How can they watch TV when there is so much to be concerned about?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM?


On Facebook today someone posted:  Life starts when fear ends.  I know this is true.  In recent years I have learned to push most fears aside and I am successful often, but I still fall into old patterns.  In the time it took me to write this, one of my fears has already dissipated when a lack I feared would occur, did not.  I feel silly.  I have evolved enough to know fear and worry are blocks for manifestation.  I also know the Universe is on my side and I have nothing to fear.  My first reaction is to chastise myself, but that also is not good.  I must remember that growing and learning is a process and as part of that process, I will sometimes regress and I just need to acknowledge my lack of confidence and my backsliding into fear and worry and move forward with more confidence.  

So, I shake out the tension in my neck and the weakness in my arms, I breathe deep and clear the tighteness in my throat.  I smile at myself and thank the Universe for being patient with this work in progress.  


      

6/25/12 Ahhh, Mount Dora!

We are here in Mount Dora!  And, I feel like I arrived home.  After a crazy week driving to two states north, going through my mom’s stuff, discovering family secrets tucked away in dusty cardboard boxes, loading my friend’s SUV with the items my mom left me (at least those I was willing to haul back to Florida), driving back, unloading the car and working for three days, I can now relax in my home away from home and spend a few days writing and reading.

We are in the midst of the eastern bands of Tropical Storm Debby that is swirling, unorganized and undecided, in the Gulf of Mexico.  For those of you who live outside the range of tropical storms, these storms have winds 39 to 74 miles per hour that are cyclical or somewhat cyclical in movement.  The eastern side of a tropical storm has the bands of rain and storms that are the most severe, sometimes creating tornadoes.  The rain was non-stop all day and the closer to central Florida we came the gustier the winds were.  We thought about, for a fleeting moment, cancelling our trip, but then decided a few rainy days in Mount Dora are better then sunny days most other places, so here we are.   

Since starting this Manifesting Mount Dora project, I’ve been asked the same two questions multiple times: Why Mount Dora? and How did I find Mount Dora?  Perhaps explaining my personal story of Mount Dora would not only help others to understand why I want to live there, but just writing about Mount Dora will increase my positive vibrations about it and those vibrations are a key part of manifestation. 

I don’t remember when or how I first heard about Mount Dora, although for several years I was aware of the huge annual arts and crafts festival held here each fall and I knew that the town was famous for its quaint shops and antiques.  In the back of my mind I had the idea of visiting here someday.  Since Mount Dora is only about a two hour drive from my home, I figured a day trip would suffice. 

The spring of 2009 was a difficult time for me.  My daughter and her family, which included my newborn granddaughter and my almost 2-year-old grandson, moved far away and I experienced a sadness like none I had known before.  Everything at home reminded me of them and I cried more often than I wish to admit.  The need to get away and have time to reflect and heal haunted me, so I began researching where my man and I could go for five to seven days that would not be too costly and would not require traveling very far.  Mount Dora popped into my mind and subsequent online research assured me that it would the type of quiet, quaint place that I needed.  I discovered Tremain Street Cottages which had great online reviews and a five-day special rent price that was more than reasonable.  June, being an off-season month in Mount Dora, meant we would not be inundated with tourists and the town would be relatively quiet.  I booked our five-day stay and we headed south.

Mount Dora is located in what is called the “lake country” of Central Florida.  Although our state is famous for the Atlantic on the east coast, the Gulf on the west coast and the beaches on both coasts and for Disney World and other entertainment parks in the central part of the state, there are many lovely towns west and north of Orlando nestled among a myriad of lakes and rolling hills.  Mount Dora is approximately 32 miles from Orlando and overlooks several lakes, including Lake Dora and Lake Gertrude.  Mountains are not a geographical feature of the Sunshine State, but Mount Dora, which is 184 feet above sea level, qualifies as a “mountain town”.  Certainly not Aspen, but a Florida mount nonetheless!
 
The settlement of what would later be known as Mount Dora began in 1873 and was  named Royellou after the children of Ross Tremain who was the town’s first postmaster; their names were Roy, Ellen and Louis.  One of the earliest settlers was Dora Ann Drawdy for whom the lake was named and later, in 1883, the town.  The area originally became a popular vacation spot for hunters, fishermen and boaters and later became known for its arts and crafts festivals, historical buildings and quaint shops. 

We chose to drive down 441 rather than take the interstate highway.  We meandered through towns like Ocala, Belleview, Leesburg and Eustis until we turned on Donnelly Street and entered Mount Dora.  A lovely tree-lined street, Donnelly goes north to south dissecting what is called the “old city” almost in half.  Since it was well past lunch time and we hadn’t eaten, we stopped at the first restaurant we came upon, Pizza Amore, which had just opened for business that week.  The owner and her son welcomed us and we had a tasty meal while watching one of those catch-me-by-surprise Florida afternoon summer rainstorms. 

Back in the car, we found Tremain Street Cottages just a couple of blocks east. The cottages consist of an old cracker-style house in which the bottom floor is a two-bedroom “cottage” and the second floor is a small one bedroom unit.  Behind the house is another two-story building that may have been a garage or possibly a barn at one time, but now contains two more one-bedroom cottages.  All the cottages have kitchens and small dining and living areas.  Ours was the bottom cottage in the back building.  It is called the Nantucket and is, no surprise here, decorated in nautical style.  The bed is huge and I later learned, could be separated into two beds.  The living area, which is part of the bedroom, is small but comfortable and boasted a TV larger than we had at home.  The kitchen is complete with a small stove and oven, full-sized refrigerator, microwave, coffee maker and all the dishes and cooking utensils we needed.  A tiny dining area is in the back of the kitchen next to a door that leads to a small wooden deck, where we chose to have our breakfast each morning.  Besides a bathroom and a roomy hall closet, there is a small sitting room which is the perfect place for me to read, write or meditate while my man os watching TV or sleeping.  Only on one of our trips was the Nantucket unavailable, so we stayed in the unit above it, which was also nice and comfortable but lacked the additional sitting room and the deck.  Last year I brought my daughter and grandchildren to Mount Dora and we rented the two-bedroom “main house” which was plenty large enough for us and included a separate living room/dining room combination and a spacious porch. 

Tremain Street, a quiet, mostly residential street, is one of the highest spots in the Mount Dora and leads to Lake Dora and two of the nicest parks in town.  Grantham  Point Park, commonly called Lighthouse Park, has a boat ramp, fishing and boat docks, and a man-made peninsula that juts out into Lake Dora and holds one of the best known local landmarks, the less-than-full-size Lake Dora lighthouse.

Benches are scattered along the lighthouse peninsula and provide a fabulous view of the lake and its breathtaking sunsets.   Grantham Point flows into Palm Island Park, an eight acre nature park with picnic areas and a wooden boardwalk that hugs the shoreline of Lake Dora and allows you to stroll along, spotting alligators, great blue herons and a wide variety of water birds and even the occasional racoon or other wildlife.  Rather than the boardwalk you can choose to venture through a wooded nature area full of native trees and flora.

Across from Grantham Point Park is Gilbert Park, a children’s playground paradise with the “Kids Castle” and other unique and state-of-the-art playground creations, as well as two picnic pavilions and numerous picnic tables.  The park is beautifully landscaped and even has a creek and a bridge.  On weekends Gilbert Park is alive with the sound of children playing as the pavilions are set up for birthday parties and the tables and grills are occupied by picnickers.

 

Two and one half acre Donnelly Park, on Donnelly Street and right below where we stay at Tremain Street Cottages, is the main city park and has a large recreation center where dance and exercise classes, concerts, movies and art shows are held, as well as gardens, a fountain, benches, tennis and shuffleboard courts. 

There are many other parks in Mount Dora, small and large, and even though we have visited here eight times, we have yet to visit them all because there is the town itself, with its many shops and restaurants, to keep us busy and entertained.  When making the plans to go to Mount Dora, I worried that I might have problems finding food to please my man, who is very particular about what he eats - although he denies the label “particular” and says that he just knows what is good and what is not.  As a small southern town, I was concerned that the restaurants of Mount Dora would be more of the bar-b-que, down-home-cooking types that would not be acceptable to my travel companion.  Fortunately, my concerns were washed away when we discovered Copacabana, a Cuban restaurant; Pisces Rising, a seafood and steak restaurant with a tiki bar that looks out on Lake Dora;  Cecile’s French Corner, a sandwich and crepe eatery; One Flight Up, a sandwich, salad and coffee house; Cody's on 4th, a breakfast, sandwich, salad and soup cafe; and Palm Tree Grille, a steak, seafood and pasta restaurant.  As with the parks, there are many other restaurants in Mount Dora that we’ve heard are great, but we just have not gotten around to eating at all of them. 

The streets are lined with a variety of shops offering antiques, artwork, jewelry, books, imported furniture, clothing, pampered pet supplies, gifts, home decor, wine, coffee and tea, bakery items and fine cheeses and meats, kitchen and dining products, garden accessories, footwear, bath and body items, music and photography products and even, I am sorry to admit, a gun shop (we are in Florida after all).  There are also several spas, although I’ve never indulged in their services.

My favorite shop is Em’z on Fifth, a women’s boutique, where I can always find a unique piece of clothing that is just to my taste.  The owner, Clara, has a knack for remembering the preferences of her customers, even those who only come a couple times a year.  She and I always find time to chat as I shop and we are now Facebook friends.  In fact, that is one of the my favorite things about Mount Dora, the eatery and shop owners typically work at their places of business so they take a personal interest in the customers who come back again and again.  Because our first trip and most of our subsequent trips have been during off-season times of the year when the flow of tourists and the town itself have slowed down, we have had the pleasure of getting to know many of the business owners and their staff.  Alberto, who owns the Copacabana and is from Cuba, lingers long at our table talking to my man, who is from Argentina, about food, tango, Che Guevara and life in Cuba, Argentina and Florida.  They, along with Alberto’s Mexican son-in-law who also works at the restaurant, have already made plans for an asado (an Argentine cook-out) to be held at our future home in Mount Dora!  We always look forward to reconnecting with our Mount Dora friends when we are here. 

During our first trip we had breakfast on our deck and then  wandered the streets, visited the shops and strolled through the parks in the morning before the heat and humidity settled like a blanket over the town.  Before noon we would stop for a cool drink and a snack, often on the outside balcony at One Flight Up,

and then after noon we would return to our cottage and rest - I would read or write and my man would read or watch TV.  Sometimes we indulged in a nap.  In the late afternoon we would again take to the streets ending up at a restaurant for a delicious meal.   While we were there that year, the NBA championship was being televised and the Orlando Magic was playing, so the locals were glued to TV’s every evening.  Several times we went to the tiki bar at Pisces Rising and spent our evening watching the game on the bar’s TV and watching the sunset over Lake Dora. 

On our first trip and on a later trip with my daughter and grandchildren, we took the nature boat tour of Mount Dora and the Dora Canal.  Skimming across the lake is so refreshing on a hot, humid, sunny afternoon.  We saw eagles, alligators, many water birds, turtles and fish, as well as lovely houses that rim the lake.                               

              

 During our five days I indulged in the rest I needed so badly, I re-awakened my creative writing that laid dormant for years, I healed some, but not completely, from the heartbreak of my daughter and grandchildren moving far away and my man and I fell in love with this lovely little historic town called Mount Dora and Mount Dora became my "righteous fantasy". 

     

6/13/12 Hosting The Angels

A few weeks ago, I attended a class that my yoga instructor was teaching about angels. My previous experiences with organized religions left me reluctant to accept belief in any of the entities that crossover between the teachings of Christian denominations and some of the other spiritual beliefs and practices that I am learning.  I honestly don't know if angels exist, but I want them to and I like the idea of angelic beings who provide spiritual guidance. Since the idea of angels has sparked an interest to know more, I joined the Angel Chatter group on Facebook a few months ago and have been reading about angels.  In the class I learned different theories and ideas about angels and about what purposes they have.  Other class attendees shared interesting stories about angelic interactions in their lives and I left feeling that I lean more to them existing than not. I also left the class agreeing to "Host the Angels" in my home.

Hosting the angels is a spiritual practice that my yoga instructor learned from her friends in New York.  Someone who is currently hosting the angels passes them on to three other people (Sounds a little like those old chain letters, doesn't it?).  The angels reside with each person/family for 5 days and are then passed on to three more people.  They travel and rest for five days and then arrive at the homes of their new hosts.  To host the angels you write down three wishes and put the paper in a sealed envelope, you find three more people who are willing to host the angels after you and write their names and addresses on another sheet of paper and place it in an envelope, and you prepare an altar consisting of the two envelopes, a white candle, an apple and a white flower, bouquet of white flowers or live plant with white flowers. The angels arrive at 10:30 PM on the designated day, which is five days after they left the last host, and you greet them by opening your door and reading a welcoming statement.  They reside with you for five days and leave at 10:30 PM on the last day.  There is a small good-bye ceremony that consists of opening your door, thanking them for visiting and for granting your three wishes (this is done with the belief that the wishes will be granted), reading the names of the next three hosts, then burning your envelopes and eating the apple.  

I have no idea how this hosting practice started or why.  A Google search revealed that there are various angel hosting traditions that vary in the number of days the angels stay and what, if anything, needs to be done to welcome them or to prepare an altar.  Some of the other hosting practices sound easier with little or nothing to be done or to prepare, but I like the idea of the altar and the preparation and ceremony involved - maybe that is my old Catholic upbringing, but there is something soothing, grounding and peaceful about a spiritual practice whether it is preparing an altar, meditating, chanting, or any other such ceremony.  Others had more specific and detailed instructions, such as what types of wishes you can request (one for Mother Earth, one personal and one for your family), how to write and word your wishes, when and how long to burn the white candle and one even said that your house must be clean and tidy.  I like that the hosting I did had some instruction and ceremony, but not too much, allowing for some personal expression and not making the process too rigid or complicated.  One angel hosting I read about named specific angels who come to visit:  Archangels Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel and Metatron. I don't know who visits but any angel is welcome!  

I enjoyed my experience of hosting the angels. Each morning I lit the candle and sounded my Tibetan Singing Bowl, a personal touch I added, and wrote in my journal.  The candle stayed lit during the day as long as it was safe to do so and someone was around to watch it (the candle can be replaced with an electrical or battery-powered white light if you prefer).  This version of the hosting ceremony does not require any daily practice other than using the candle or light, but adding some of your own favorite practices makes the experience more personal.  If you pray, chant, journal or meditate, doing so near the altar seems to intensify the practice.  I truly felt my home was more peaceful during the five days I hosted the angels and when I passed them on to the next three people, I felt a little sad as if a good friend had come to visit and then left.  

Most people are interested in hosting the angels for the benefit of the three wishes.  My yoga teacher said one of her three wishes was granted soon after the angels left her home. One of my wishes was very specific and I asked that it be granted by a certain date. Until asking for the angels' assistance, I had no hope that this wish would come to pass at all and certainly not by that date.  Two days after the angels' departure what I wanted came to pass.  Did the angels grant it or would the same thing have happened if I had not hosted the angels?  Who knows?  Now, I wait patiently for my other two wishes - one of which was not time limited and which I think is slowly being realized and the other which has a time limit several months in the future and which has not been granted as of yet.  

My partner, who is a skeptic at heart and veers away from anything very spiritual in nature, also felt a difference while I was hosting the angels and liked the atmosphere in our home during those five days.  He ended up hosting the angels himself and now I am hosting them for a second time.  

All of this might be hokey hogwash.  Anything I felt or thought I felt might have been my imagination.  The wish that came true may have come true anyway.  I cannot say that any of those statements are untrue and I really don't care.  I ENJOYED the practice.  I FEEL better for having hosted the angels. That's all I need and all I want. After all, do any of us truly KNOW what is out there in the Universe?  Do any of us truly understand why or how we and this world came into existence?  We may BELIEVE many things or nothing, but what do we KNOW, truly KNOW?  I know what I feel, what I experience.  I cannot confirm or deny what you feel and experience and you cannot deny my feelings or experiences.  This life we each live is personal and we relate to one another through our personal experiences and understandings. 

One of my wishes, as you may have guessed, was about manifesting my retirement and my new home in Mount Dora.  I believe that manifestation is my responsibility, but I will accept the help of any angels who want to assist me!  Let's see what happens. . . 

6/6/12 Synchronicity & Inspiration

My last post was called “Illuminations”.  That word was in my mind when I awoke from an afternoon nap on Sunday and I heard it in my mind over and over the rest of the day.  Not knowing why that word visited me, I thought about what illuminations meant to me and quickly associated it with those moments of great clarity and synchronization that come into being when I’m on an inspired path.  After writing my blog about illumination, I reached for a book to read before going to sleep.  By my bed sit three or four books that I am actively reading at any given time and another six or more books that I plan to read.  One of the newest books in my stack was “The Twelfth Insight” by James Redfield.  You may remember that the first step on this path of learning about the Law of Attraction was when my man gave me the book “The Celestine Prophecy” by the same author and the first in what would become a series with “The Twelfth Insight” the most recent addition.  Not long ago, I saw the book in a store and it called to me, so I had no choice but to bring it home (Other avid readers and book purchasers will understand exactly what I mean!).  I was knee-deep in three other books and had many more waiting in line, so I had no intention of reading my newest purchase for quite awhile.  But, Sunday night “The Twelfth Insight” called to me just as it had in the bookstore, so I had not choice but to pick it up and start reading.  I quickly realized that the book was about what I called illumination in my blog and what Redfield names synchronicity, based on the writings of Dr. Carl Jung.  Reading that book was the next step on my path and was the perfect follow-up to my blog. 

My point is that if you are open to synchronicity, it will happen.  One unexpected step follows another.  A word leads to a blog leads to a book leads to. . .what?  I am not sure yet, but I have no doubt that its all leading somewhere, to something that is part of my manifestation process.  Reading “The Twelfth Insight” has reminded me that I am a little off track when it comes to my Manifesting Mount Dora project.  Understandably so, I think, with all that’s happened in my life recently, but still its time to reconnect with my manifestation project. 

It has been two months since we’ve been to Mount Dora.  Time to reconnect with my home-to-be!  Even my man mentioned, without knowing I was thinking the same thing, that he was missing Mount Dora.  So, we now have plans to spend three days there this month.  I have been neglecting my Optimist Creed and my affirmations - time to reintroduce those to my daily routine.  I wrote in another post about the guided meditation that I discovered and which helped me with my sleeping problems, but, for some unknown reason, I failed to do the meditation for a whole week.  And, yes, my insomnia quickly returned.  I am proud to say that I have meditated the last three nights and have slept soundly and greeted the morning feeling rejuvenated and energetic. 

When I first started these posts back in March I wrote about how manifesting requires high energy levels so eating better and exercising are important.  I did fairly well with that commitment, but once my stress levels reach mountaintop heights, my healthier diet took a hiatus. And, when the Floridian summer heat and humidity took up residence, my willingness to walk regularly waned - my three-to-four-times-a-week walks became one or two, maybe, and even those were shorter and less strenuous.  During the school year, I was getting up 45 minutes earlier than usual to see my grandson off to school, usually preparing his breakfast as well.  His school ended last Friday and since I am accustomed to getting up earlier and since I am meditating again and waking up with energy, I started walking in the morning before the heat and humidity settle in turning each day into a Turkish steam bath.  I’ve also been eating more fruits and vegetables and opting for local and organic produce when possible.

When faced with stress and grief, it is easy, and understandable, that we get sidetracked from our goals and our commitments.  There is only so much we can deal with at one time.  But, as soon as possible, it is important to return to our healthy and spiritual practices.  One of my main sources of stress was my mom’s missing Last Will and Testament.  Without it, handling and settling her estate and financial affairs was going to be difficult, time-consuming and emotionally draining.  Friends in her state had been searching for it since her death in late April. By late May, we were all beginning to wonder if, in spite of what she’d told us, the will actually existed (none of us had ever seen it).  On the Sunday before Memorial Day, I decided to ask my angels and the Universe for help and I put out a request that my mom’s will be located before the end of May, which was just four days away.  Three days later I received a call - her will was found. 

Another interesting story of synchronicity happened last month.  In mid-May I met a young woman, who had recently moved to Gainesville.  She told me she was a writer and she specifically mentioned poetry.  Wild Iris Bookstore hosts the Feminist Poetry Open Mic once a month and I told my new acquaintance about the group.  She promised to be at the next show and asked if I read my poems there.  I told her that although I attend the Open Mic and love the poetry readings, I had not written poetry in 30 years or more and that most of my poetry writing was done when I was in high school and college.  She chastised me for not writing.  “I write, though,” I objected, “Just not poetry.  I write a blog and stories and I journal.”  Those words did not satisfy her and she gave me an assignment to write a poem about the last 30+ years and read it at the next Open Mic.  I laughed to myself, thinking that I had enough pressure in my life without feeling obligated to write a poem at the command of someone I’d just met.  I did think about it though, several times, but no inspiration came to me and I pushed aside the nagging thoughts.  Over the Memorial Day weekend, when I was house and animal sitting for friends in the country and had plenty of time to relax, I again thought of her assignment, but was not inspired to write.  I asked the Universe to inspire me if writing a poem was what I should do.  Two days later, three hours before the Open Mic, the inspiration arrived and I wrote:

      
                  "I Used To Write Poetry"
   
        I used to write poetry, I said,
        Long, long ago.
        A different lifetime.
        A younger time, a time of war.
        You know,
        War creates emotion;
        Emotion creates poems,
        Back then, but not now.
        Oh, sure, we do have a war
        Now.
        But war poetry is for the young,
        And I am no longer young.
        So, she said, write of the last 35 years.

        Hmm, I thought.
        You mean,
        The time after that war,
        Before this war,
        And the one before,
        And the one before that?
        Hmm, what happened over those 35 years?

        We ended THAT war,
        The war that tore us apart.
        We swore there'd never be another,
        But there were
        Others,
        Too many others.
        We started some, ended some,
        And have one
        That lasts
        Forever.
        Hmm, what happened over those 35 years?

        Cocaine was fashionable
        And then not.
        Crack was in
        And then out.
        Even heroin made a comeback,
        Just like Steven Tyler.
        Now there's meth,
        And, Red Bull.
        Hmm, what happened over those 35 years?

        Disco was in,
        Then out.
        Now Barry Gibb
        and Donna Summer
        Are dead.
        Just like disco.
        Country was in,
        Then not.
        They say
        The Rhinestone Cowboy
        Lives in Tokyo now
        And sometimes visits and
        Dances on the streets of Manhattan.
        Hmm, what happened over those 35 years?

        Oh, yeah,
        We were attacked!
        How dare they!
        We were frightened.
        Not us!
        We were vengeful.
        So American!
        We fought back
        Well, we fought someone,
        Maybe not the right someone,
        But someone.
        We have to fight someone,
        To regain our dignity.
        Now we have a war that never ends,
        And it may not be the right war,
        But is is OUR war, dammit!
        The war to regain our dignity.
        Hmm, what happened over those 35 years?

        We got rich and then very poor,
        And we got sad,
        Then very mad.
        We came together,
        To be torn apart by
        Politicians and
        Policemen,
        Like Ohio State,
        Berkeley,
        The Summer of Love.
        But, now its Zuccoti Park
        Times Square
        And San Diego.
        And, and. . .

        Funny, not that much has changed,
        After all,
        In 35 years.
        And, I guess,
        After all,
        You don't have to be young
        To write of war.
        But, you do have to be young
        To fight a war.
        That has not changed.
        35 years, 35 YEARS!
        And, sadly,
        Nothing much has changed.


Oddly, my new friend did not come to the Open Mic, so she missed hearing my poem.  We had become Facebook friends so I sent the poem to her in a Facebook message, but she has not responded.  In fact, she has not posted anything on Facebook since the week we met.  Maybe I will encounter her again or maybe not.  Perhaps, she appeared just to be my inspiration angel - another piece of synchronicity in this unwinding tale of manifestation. 

6/3/12 Illumination

I often feel like the meaning of my life, especially in the smaller day-to-day scope, is unclear.  So much seems routine, sometimes rote, often muddled, and rarely meaningful.  I also feel like life is in stages or, as a writer, I prefer the word chapters.  Each chapter starts with a certain sense of meaning and the script is focused and strong.  There is a theme of purpose and direction and I, as the lead character, move forward with determination. 

About a quarter of the way into the chapter, a rhythm is assumed and the details take precedence.  The daily, weekly and monthly tasks set the pace.  The pace may seem slower if the routine is controlled and steady or the pace may feel hectic if the hours are overflowing with responsibilities.  The greater meaning of my life cannot be seen because of the little bits and pieces that make up the moments of each day.

As the close of a chapter begins, I experience confusion, disturbances, sometimes upheaval and emotional distress.  The day-to-day routine loses its importance as I struggle to accept or deny transformation.  If change is rejected (if change ever can truly be rejected),  I will again settle into a routine, but this routine will lack rhythm.  Its pace will be jerky and feel disingenuous like a story with no plot.  The lack of meaning seems more obvious, even to the point of my feeling completely lost.  As I continue to push away the inevitable, health issues will appear - each one more serious than the last.  I imagine if I were to continue on a path to nowhere, death would be the result but, so far, I’ve always experienced some sort of jolting wake-up that shatters my world and pushes me firmly and lovingly toward the needed change.    

If I accept transformation unwillingly, as one led to the gallows, my days will be sorrowful, slow and befuddled.  I will move forward, but tentatively and with distrust.  Because our transformations are always a soul lesson, I will eventually get there but the path will be obscured and uneven.  What could have been, and was meant to be a joyful and exciting  journey, will take on similarities of walking through thick mud - I may reach my destination but in a state of exhaustion, dirty and disheveled, but always with more wisdom.   

If I embrace the change, the pace of my days will quicken as small shifts are made.  Then, before transformation is complete or even in full force, all slows down.  A new rhythm is assumed - slower, but less steady.  I believe this to be a time of acclimation and acceptance, of allowing new conditions to be absorbed.  At times, I may feel like the change has halted and I may even accept and welcome that.  But, inevitably and without warning, the shifts begin again, but greater in force and frequency.  Synchronicity leads the way to make the transformation complete.  Problems that seemed unsolvable are almost magically resolved.  Helpers come into my life unexpectedly and often from unknown sources.  There is an electricity in the air that surrounds me and changes occur quickly, smoothly and with purpose.  This is when illumination happens.  Moments are lit up like fireflies.  My direction, my reason for being is clear and in focus.  Life feels spiritual and I feel as though I am being hugged by angels.  And, maybe I am.  Illumination gives meaning to the smallest of occurrences and all works together in harmony. 

I have recently spent a great deal of time contemplating change and this is what I learned about how change has historically occurred in my life.  Change for others may be, and I am sure is, a completely different experience.  Obviously, some have transformation thrust upon them suddenly, sometimes violently and others seem to travel through the chapters of their lives like riding on a an escalator - the movement is smooth and uneventful and the scenery changes just slightly.  Our journeys are all personal and unique. 

It is the illumination part that intrigues me.  That is the fun part.  When all the moments seem synchronized and harmonized and meaningful.  I believe it is during the periods of illumination that we are able to manifest, when we are the most creative and in tune with the Universe.  The question is: how do we maintain a state of illumination? 

Right now I feel like I am in that second stage of transformation - the one after the chaos and before illumination.  My life has a rhythm but it feels slightly off kilter, like dancing rock-n-roll, rather than a waltz.  I am longing for illumination; searching for it.  And, maybe, that is the problem.  The Law of Attraction says we have to stop struggling, to stop needing.  I realize now that illumination is a gift, not a reward that is earned.  To accept a gift, we have to be open to receiving it and that means letting go of the struggle.  Ironically, I am struggling with letting go of the struggle.  Aren’t we all?  We are told from a young age that life is a struggle, life is hard, we must work hard, we must fight to the finish, we cannot give up, JUST DO IT.  But, what is “it”?  Aren’t we too busy doing an undefined “it”?  Running around chasing “it”?  Searching for “it”?  Finding “it” and then losing “it” and then struggling to regain “it”? 

Maybe illumination is the “it” of our lives and, unexpectedly and contrary to what we have been taught, that “it” cannot be earned or gained or chased or trapped or caught.  Illumination is an honored guest, not a prisoner who is captured.  As its host, one cannot have expectations because illumination comes with its own agenda.  One need only open the door and wait patiently, peacefully and contentedly.  Maybe illumination does not have to come at the end of my chapters, after the turmoil has brought about transformation.  What if illumination stays, is part of my daily life?  Perhaps, with illumination a permanent resident, turmoil is not needed.  With illumination, transformation may be a state of being.  Rather than cataclysmic, maybe change would be steady and smooth, like breathing. 

5/28/12 Blocks

Over this long holiday weekend, my man and I are house-and-animal sitting for friends who have 40 acres and various farm and domestic pets in the country.  With the exception of Tropical Storm Beryl, our stay has been amazingly relaxing and, for me, contemplative.  I spent hours in the porch hammock reading before the high winds and rains from the storm drove me inside.  I’ve been writing and listening to CDs.  As much as I love the high energy and activity in my own home, this country vacation has been restorative for me and I thank my friends for the opportunity to stay in their lovely, quiet, peaceful home. 

One of the CD sets I listened to was “The Missing Secret” by Joe Vitale and I have to share some insights I experienced.  When I first started learning about the Law of Attraction, someone recommend Vitale’s book “The Attractor Factor” and although I received some good pointers and information about the Law of Attraction from his book, I did not learn as much as I hoped because, honestly, I was turned off by “Mr. Fire”, Joe Vitale.  He fit my conception of a used car salesman.  He seemed slick, too jazzy, too concerned with material things.  He uses his own successes as springboards for teaching others how to reach their own dreams,  often talking about his beautiful homes, his fleet of cars and other material signs of wealth and success he has accumulated.  I decided he just did not resonate with me, so I chose to study other writers and teachers.  A couple of years ago I played a game at a Law of Attraction seminar and I won Joe Vitale’s CD set “The Missing Secret”.  I never intended to listen to it.  I knew what he was all about, or so I thought, and I could better spend my time listening to or reading someone else’s works.  I kept “This Missing Secret” though, thinking I would pass it on to someone else who might not be turned off by Mr. Fire, but I never did.  The CD set stayed in my possession and recently started showing up regularly in different places in my house.  I only have one copy of the CD set, but it seemed like there were a half dozen or more as I found what appeared to be one after another, here and there.  I took that as a sign, brought the CD set with me and just finished listening to the CDs this afternoon. 

Joe Vitale says that “The Missing Secret”, the part of manifesting that was not covered fully in “The Secret”, is about blocks and how to clear them.  We all have limiting beliefs - beliefs we think are reality, but aren’t - they are simply our beliefs based on some experiences we had, or perhaps even a belief absorbed from someone else such as a parent, teacher, friend or spouse.  They are not reality; they are conceptions or, more often, misconceptions.  “I am dumb”, “I cannot handle money”, “If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all”, “Life sucks and then you die”, “You cannot trust anyone”, etc.  I immediately identified one of mine: “Money disappears.” 

Once a limiting belief, or block, is identified, Vitale gives instructions for clearing the block.  I know my belief that money disappears originated with my father, who inherited substantial amounts of money several times in his life, but never could hold on to any of it and died with little to his name.  In the early 60's he invested heavily in the stock market with money he inherited from his Aunt Edith.  Once his funds were totally engaged in the market he started playing with options, which is basically borrowing money to invest.  Then, President Kennedy was shot - an unpredictable event that caused the stock market to plummet.  My father’s options were called, which means he had to pay up what he owed on the borrowed funds, and that amount was much greater than all his stocks were worth after the assassination.  He lost everything he had invested in the market and the cash he had not invested.  He nearly lost our home and his business, too. 

As a child, I could not possibly understand what occurred, but with my limited ability to comprehend what I saw happening in our household, I walked away with a belief that money just disappears and that the stock market is a terrible place to put your money.  Those beliefs are not reality.  Money does not really disappear.  It may go away, but not of its own volition.  Money does not wish to harm us.  Money is energy and its “life” comes from how we use its energy.  Many unpredictable events can affect the retention or accumulation of money, but how we use our energy and the energy of money can be managed.  Many people have done very well investing in the stock market, so my belief that the stock market makes money disappear is just not true. 

Realizing that money does not really disappear and the stock market is not some magician that transforms cash into a wisp of smoke, does not necessarily give me the right answers about how to use or multiply money, but it does put me back on the right track of understanding money.  The stock market may or may not be a good place to invest money at any given time, but it is not always a bad place.  My father invested all his expendable money - not a wise move.  Then, he became greedy and invested money that was not his.  He used his energy and the energy of his money and the energy of the borrowed money poorly and paid the price.  The belief I formed about money and the stock market was based on what looked like reality, but it was only a belief based on my father’s poor energetic use of money.

Maybe the stock market is not the best place for me or for you to invest, but that should be a choice we make based on real facts, not hazy childhood memories and fears.  My false reality about money and the stock market is a block that I need to clear.  But, as I was listening to Joe Vitale, I realized my opinion of him was also a block.  I had not listened to his CD set for two years because I had a particular negative image of him - an image I did not like.  That belief I had about him was limiting my ability to learn what he may have to teach me.  I don’t know Joe Vitale.  Maybe he is a great guy.  Truthfully, sometimes, even with my knowledge of the block I have regarding him, he still turns me off.  I need to clear that block, too.  But, my true moment of clarity was when I realized I don’t have to like Joe Vitale - liking him as nothing to do with learning from him.  I need to release whatever block I have regarding him, but I don’t have to like him.  I just need to accept him as he is and open myself to learning from him.  Maybe his methods don’t work the best for me; maybe I can learn faster and better from someone else, but that does not mean I cannot learn anything from him.  And, the reality is, I did learn from him today.     

As children in school, we were forced to attend classes taught by teachers we may or may not have liked.  Most of us learned better when we had a connection with a teacher, but that does not mean we did not or could not learn from our less favored instructors.  I think, because we usually can control who we learn from as adults, we are quick to avoid someone that may turn us off, someone with whom we cannot resonate, as I did with Joe Vitale.  But, maybe, just maybe, that annoying teacher is the one we need to hear.  I had to set aside my beliefs about Joe Vitale today and allow him to talk to me.  And, I am glad I did.  Brings to mind a science teacher I had as a teenager.  Everything about him annoyed me  - he was harsh and demanding - nothing soft and fuzzy about that guy.  Also, he had a very thick German accent that was hard to understand.  I had to sit through his class and I had to do well to get into college.  I forced myself to go beyond my initial dislike of him and  to become accustomed to his accent so I could understand what he was saying.  Slowly the “forcing” dissolved and I found myself easily listening and learning from him.  Without realizing it, my forced situation had helped me clear a block.  I never cared for science, but I learned to love his class.  I learned more from him than any other teacher in my high school career.  And, when I had to move away in the middle of the school year, the only time I cried saying good-bye to my teachers was with him.  I was shocked when he told me that he started off the school year not liking me, too!  He thought I was one of “those literature types” who have no desire and feel no need to learn about science or math.  He, of course, had no choice but to teach me and was surprised when he discovered that I had an inquiring mind about everything and that I posed engaging questions.  I became his favorite pupil that year, as he had become my favorite teacher. 

If we hold tight to our beliefs, we will limit our ability to learn and to grow.  Figuring out a block is really not that hard; clearing it may be more challenging, but taking the time and effort to release it will open us up to new experiences and learning opportunities.   

5/27/12 Aunt Helen & Manifesting Mount Dora

My Aunt Helen was 99 when I stayed with her for five days while my aunt and uncle, her next door neighbors and caregivers, took a short vacation to Tennessee.  Just like my mom, she was not my “real” aunt, but my step-aunt and yet I was closer to her than any of my “real” family.  Aunt Helen lived to be 104 and she lived an inspirational life. 

She was born on a farm in upstate Maine, miles from the nearest town.  Her older brother was like their father - a hard-working, practical, no-nonsense Yankee man.  He would take over the farm as he matured and raise his own family of four children there.  He asked for little and lived what some may call a small life - rarely leaving the county where he was born and raised.  But, Aunt Helen was never meant for a small life.  She was her mother’s darling.  Aunt Helen wore crinoline dresses and hair-bows of colors that rivaled the spring wildflowers in the fields that surrounded their old farmhouse - a house that lacked indoor plumbing and electricity until Aunt Helen was already middle-aged herself.  In spite of a difficult and meager life on the farm, her mother managed to buy a piano and music lessons for Aunt Helen and to send her to a boarding school/secretarial college where she graduated at the top of her class. 

In the early 1900's it was unusual for women to be educated past high school, if they even made it that far, and in rural Maine, it was simply scandalous for a young lady to study for a career of any sort.  Fortunately, Aunt Helen’s mother and Aunt Helen thought otherwise.

She left northern Maine and settled in the Portland area, living in boarding houses where adventurous career women were chaperoned and carefully monitored.  She moved up in the secretarial world, always accepting positions with more responsibility and a better salary.  During World War II, she was executive assistant to the president of the Bath Iron Works where most of the nation’s warships were manufactured, earning the highest salary of any woman in the state of Maine.  She had graduated from boarding homes to a house of her own and lived a happy, successful life as an unmarried 30-something-year-old. She finally did marry, but not until sometime in her late 30's or early 40's.  Her husband had been married before (I never knew if he was widowed or divorced) and had grown children.  He was a very successful insurance agent who retired early due to a heart condition.  They spent their summers at their  lovely, but simple cabin-like home on a lake in Camden and winters in Boca Raton, Florida where they owned a lovely, but simple ranch-style house near a canal.  I only recall seeing Uncle Laraine once.  I was three years old and I have a very vivid mental photograph of riding in a motor boat on their lake.  Uncle Laraine is at the wheel and my father is standing next to him.  I am in the back of the boat with someone else - perhaps my step-mom or one of my older sisters.  We are pulling away from the dock where Aunt Helen stands waving good-bye.  She is wearing a peach-colored, slightly-flared shirtwaist dress, stockings, white pearls and white pumps - classic Aunt Helen attire.  A few months later Uncle Laraine died of a massive heart attack - sad, but not unexpected. 

Because of their late-in-life marriage, Aunt Helen and Uncle Laraine had no children and she seemed fine with that.  She chose a different life than most women her age and she had no regrets.  After her husband’s passing, Aunt Helen sold the lake home in Maine and became a permanent resident in Florida.  She was in her early 50's at the time and well-off financially due to Uncle Laraine’s successful insurance career and his generous life insurance policy, but she chose to return to work as an executive secretary for a small, prosperous insurance agency.  She continued to work there until she was in her mid-70's and, in fact, helped to computerize the office before going part-time and then retiring altogether. 

While working, she spent her vacation time taking cruises and trips around the world.  After her retirement, she did the same, but more often and for longer periods of time.  She visited most U.S. states and a great portion of Canada, all the European and Scandinavian countries, much of Asia, Australia and New Zealand, and countless islands in the Atlantic, Pacific, Caribbean and Mediterranean. 

She lived well, but not extravagantly.  She sold the Boca Raton home and purchased one of the first apartments in a new condominium three blocks from the beach in Pompano.  She served on the board of directors there for many years, holding every possible position. 

Her politics and her financial investments were conservative and she was up-to-date on all the world and national news stories.  She smiled broadly, laughed often, marveled at other people and at life, loved deeply but at a comfortable distance, and her appearance was always impeccable.

I quoted Aunt Helen in an earlier blog post: “Most, if not all, of the world’s problems can be solved with good manners.”  She lived those words.  I never heard her say a sharp word or raise her voice.  Her manners were faultless even when responding to boorishness, incivility, sarcasm, arrogance and just plain bad behavior.  She truly was a “lady”.

That five-day period I spent with her when she was 99 is one of my happiest memories.  I was able to know her on a much deeper level.  We shopped for shoes (she loved shoe-shopping), we ate at quaint sandwich cafes near the beach, we bought new wall-paper for her dining room, we sat side-by-side and read in silence for hours,  we talked and laughed - a lot. 

So what does Aunt Helen have to do with Manifesting Mount Dora?  She is my inspiration.  She lived her life as she saw fit, not as society or others dictated.  She accomplished what others thought a poor farm girl from northern Maine could not.  She did not acknowledge or even listen to the bubble-bursting comments made about her career dreams.  She showed no fear and constantly, consistently moved forward on her path.  Her plans pushed no one aside and she stepped on no one as she moved forward.  She just did her best and she believed that she could achieve her dreams.  Optimism was her trademark.  When Hurricane Andrew was taking aim at South Florida, her condominium building was evacuated to a shelter in the local high school.  Although she was having terrible stomach discomfort, that would later prove to be a cancerous tumor, she talked about her evacuation experience as if it were a Disney World vacation - “The Red Cross workers were so kind and helpful”, “The cot where I slept was comfy”, “They gave us delightful little plastic bowls of fruit for dessert”, “We had fun playing cards”.  Not a complaint, not a whine. 

At 86 a massive lump was discovered hidden away under her right breastbone.  It was her first experience with a serious illness and family members were already writing her obituary - “She has no idea what she will have to go through”, “At her age, she will never make it”, “She’s lived a good life.”  Fortunately, she was not through living that good life.  After two radical mastectomies, her doctor said he had never seen anyone heal so quickly.  He marveled at her positive attitude, her strength of will and her impervious nature.  She was sent home from the hospital with a home-care nurse.  After three days of being told she needed to stay in her nightgown and bathrobe because getting dress would be too painful, she told the nurse to leave the room for awhile and thirty minutes later she emerged fully dressed, including stockings, pumps and pearls.  The nurse was reassigned to another patient two days later.  After her Hurricane Andrew evacuation experience, Aunt Helen finally sought medical advice about her stomach discomfort.  A large tumor was removed and again she defied odds with her amazing recovery and her eternally optimistic approach to her healing process.  She just would not allow herself to believe that she would do anything but heal speedily and completely.  In her 90's, a fall at a supermarket left her with broken bones in her arm, but she recovered and was hand-hemming her clothes a month later.  Another fall at 103 left her with a weakened arm and she moved to a nursing home where she finally decided she had lived long enough, done enough, been enough places, loved enough.  She died of “old age” - no ailment, no disease - just because she was not fond of her new living arrangements and because once she could not go to concerts, plays and movies anymore and when she was no longer able to play her beloved bridge twice a week with her decades-younger friends, she knew it was time to move on to her next spiritual adventure.  She was not sad or angry or disappointed.  She was ready.  She just let go and over the period of a few weeks, she turned into the old woman that 103 previous years could not create.  She made it a few days past her 104th birthday.  That was enough. 

Aunt Helen would love my Manifesting Mount Dora project.  She would say it is “delightful”, declare it “great fun” and spur me on with her own enthusiasm.  She knew nothing of the Law of Attraction or manifesting or anything of the other new-Agey stuff that surrounds my work-in-progress, but she would support me nonetheless and I am sure would find some of my “putting it out in the Universe” faith similar to her own unwavering optimism.  She would come to visit me in Mount Dora, too, and we would shop for shoes and eat in quaint little cafes and we would talk and laugh - a lot.