• Good Lock

    • July 27, 2016 3:34 pm

    Recently, I got locked out of the house. It wasn’t my house so I did not know all of its little intricacies including the one about the front door bolt sometimes slipping down into the catch on its own. So I went outside to do a chore and when I came back the door was bolted shut.

    At first I didn’t believe it. It was impossible. The bolt had to be physically turned from the inside to lock the door. In my disbelief I began to pull on the door shaking and rattling it to force it to open. It was definitely locked. Then I growled and noticed the panic rising. I had a full day that included a list of other chores before making my way to the airport to catch a plane.

    Going around to the back of the house to see if I’d left the back door open was futile because I knew I’d locked it five minutes earlier when I’d let the cat out. I did it anyway. Then I checked all the windows and found one that could be opened if I forced it. I stopped trying when my arm began to bleed.

    As I returned to the front of the house to escape the burning late-morning Florida sun I said a prayer. Well, barked one, actually. “Okay, what am I supposed to do about this?” Maybe I even said, “What the hell am I supposed to do about this?” I was highly aware of my resistance and lack of calm.

    With that awareness I took a seat on the shady front porch and started to listen for the answer. I was locked out. What could I do? Not much. Did the rage help? Not a bit.

    A lizard about the size of my hand sashayed out of the shrubbery and stopped a couple of feet away, watching me out of the corner of its eye, its tiny sides expanding and contracting rapidly with breath. That lizard did not have a big agenda. It moved again, stopped, moved again. Each time it stopped I stayed with it, with the power of its total presence, its utter lack of agenda. The lizard eventually moved on and I thanked it because it had brought me into the here and now.

    Reflecting on my anger I saw that it had come from the fact that I was not going to be able to fulfill my agenda. My agenda had not only been meticulously planned (go inside, finish chores, accomplish tasks, eat some food, take a spiritual direction call, get to the airport and fly away), I was counting on the fact that it was all going to take place. I was upset because the future I’d planned was not going to happen. But that future was not my actual life. My actual life, my unfolding life in reality, was sitting on the porch, locked out of the house in +35C heat, learning life-lessons from lizards. There was nothing else. All the other stuff was just a bunch of thoughts that I had allowed to become expectations.

    To commit to the spiritual journey means that when any challenge comes our way we stay open to the transforming opportunity being presented. I closed my eyes, went within and listened.

    Let go. Wait. Trust.

    Letting go of all my plans and seeing that the world would not come to an end by doing so, I went and picked some starfruit from a tree in the yard, thankful for the moisture it provided my thirsty mouth. With that action came an intuitive thought: Maybe I could knock on the neighbours doors? Fear rose up. I sat with it and then followed the prompt. Within minutes, two generous men were walking around the house with me looking for a spare key or a way to get in. Then one of them got a screwdriver and jimmied a window open. Hallelujah! I climbed into the cool, air-conditioned house, relieved and dripping with sweat.

    As the rest of the day unfolded and the agenda got accomplished I kept meditating on a deeper question that came out of the experience: Where am I “locked out”? Or what am I “locking out” of my life?

    Exactly one week later, while leading a retreat on the ashram in the Bahamas, I went to leave the little beach-side room where I slept to go to a yoga class. But when I turned the door handle and pulled, the door remained shut. I tried again. Nope. I was locked in. You know what I did? I smiled.

    After trying a couple of tricks to jimmy the latch I pulled the screen off the window, lifted myself up over the sill, did a modified handstand to climb out, and went to reception to tell maintenance. Later, after the local man who repaired it explained that the salt-air had corroded the latch (happens all the time), I had the opportunity to do some more spiritual inquiry. Two episodes with locks in one week? Kinda hard to ignore.

    Okay, so where was I “locked in”? Or what am I currently “locked into”?

    There was temptation to go into shame. I’m doing something wrong. I’m being punished. This attitude will only keep me from looking deeper. A gentler approach prevailed: How did I respond to what unfolded?

    My reaction to being locked out was rage, which came from being overly attached to my agenda. Fair enough, I had a flight to catch. But to assume I’m going to get to complete my plans at any given time is to deny the unpredictability of life. When I am attached to an agenda I am locked out of being present to life’s unfolding and I am leaping ahead of reality.

    My reaction to being locked in was to smile. Made easier by some free time, certainly, but also by a willingness to accept what comes with an open mind and an open heart. When I am detached from my agenda I am locked in to reality. Life is unfolding before me and I am following with curiosity, presence and interior freedom.

    Inspiring Message of the Day: May we all open ourselves to following the unfoldment of our lives rather than trying to leap ahead.

    Become like a Child

    • September 28, 2015 3:02 am

    Yesterday I went for a bike ride to the seaside. It was a blue-sky day and the sun was giving off gorgeous heat. The wind was up and whenever I turned east I had to ride hard against it. I’m living near Dover, in the UK, and the coastline is made up of the famous White Cliffs, which jut out of the sea with magnificent sharpness, their top-edges carpeted with soft, green grass.

    As you come inland the topography continues to undulate making for hilly roads. I was beginning to get hot riding up and down the steep streets and I noticed my mind had jumped ahead to my arrival at the beach, my ride home and the refreshments I would have when I got back. My trip to the sea was over before it had begun. Everything in front of me now, the cheek-by-jowl housing typical of English towns, the leaves flashing silver as they danced in the breeze, the puffs of white cloud drifting over Dover Castle in the distance, was invisible. I was missing it all.

    The good news is this: I noticed.

    I actually became aware that I wasn’t where I was. I realized I was not in reality and had bought in to the fantasy in my head and been seduced by it. With this awareness I could change.

    Bringing myself back to the present I felt my body riding the bike. I remembered suddenly what it felt like to be a kid riding my bicycle on a hot summer day. Would I have been thinking about the future when I was seven years old? Maybe. More likely I would have been seeing the world around me, being with it as it happened.

    I passed a sleeping white cat curled up on a concrete block. It looked so warm and so content I could actually feel its interior pleasure. If a cat is allowed to curl up and sleep away the afternoon why aren’t we, too?

    I rode on, feeling the breath in my lungs and my heart working hard as pedaled. I sensed the wind kissing my face cooling the sweat on my forehead. I heard the rocks pop under the tires as I neared the the sea.

    The beach was empty save for two young fisherman and a couple playing in the waves. I found my spot and parked the bike marveling at the way the sun was hitting the cliffs making them glimmer the brightest white imaginable. I lay down and curled up like a cat. Deep rest. Body settling into smooth stones heated warm from the late-summer day. Diamonds on the water. France at the other side. Whispers of prayer to give thanks.

    Inspiring Message of the Day: When I realize that I have engaged with my thoughts so as to disappear from the reality before me I will remember what it feels like to be a child and experience the wonder of my existence as it unfolds.

    Willing to Live

    • August 29, 2011 9:12 am

    Dearest Readers,

    This post is for you if you are feeling overwhelmed, run down by life, paralyzed by fear, stuck in a rut, cynical, helpless, hopeless. I would like you to know that you are not alone.

    Before I go on, I would like to preface what I am about to say by telling you that I have a great life. I am young, healthy, talented, loved, and pretty cute. AND I struggle with anxiety and fear. So despite the fact that I have enormous amounts of abundance and opportunities for joy in my life I go to bed some nights and wake up some days in cold, naked, fear.

    Last night was one of those nights and this morning was one of those mornings.

    When I went to bed last night I told myself that when the cat pounced on me at 5:30 the next day I would not go back to bed after getting up to feed him. I would do the morning routine and embrace the day. I was determined because I knew that if I didn’t, if I let the fear plague me it would end up driving the bus of my day and I would sink deeper into the mire.

    So this morning at 5:30 a.m., right on schedule, “Pounce!” The cat jumped on me and began his mournful sing-song to waken me. Guess what? I ignored him. I pulled the covers over my head and stuck a finger in my ear.

    Fear: 1, Celia: 0

    Now because I am aware of my shortcomings, because I am aware that I rebel against my Highest Good, because I well know that I get in my own way more often than I care to admit, I did not stop there. I did not let the fear win.

    Despite myself, I began to ask for help. Buried under those covers with a finger in my ear listening to the cat cry for his breakfast I began to pray like a motherlover.

    “I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to face the day. It’s too much. Please help me. Please forgive me. Please give me the strength and courage to pull my covers off and sit up and get up and feed the cat and start the morning routine and live the day. I don’t want to because I’m afraid but I’m willing. Give me the courage, please, I need strength, please help me.”

    I kept on like that for some time. I just kept on. Then out came the finger. Off came the covers. I sat up. I got up. I fed the cat. I splashed water on my face and drank water. Life-giving water. I felt relief.

    Celia:1, Fear: 0

    I began the morning routine, entering into deeper prayer and meditation. I did a yoga practice. I WENT FOR A JOG. IN THE RAIN. When I got back I picked raspberries from the bush in our yard for breakfast.

    Miracles all.

    Somewhere around the five-minute mark into the jog (those of you who have been following this blog since the beginning will be most impressed for I began hauling myself up an outdoor staircase two years ago to build cardio activity into my life and nearly had a heart attack) I began to feel better. The fear began to lift and I could feel my energy changing. Hallelujah.

    For a person who is gripped by fear or anxiety the most difficult thing in the world to do is to get up off the proverbial couch. And yet it is the absolute solution to the problem. We must get up off the couch and step into our lives for the fear to lift, for things to change, for the miracle of thankfulness to overtake the dread. And yet how? How do we do that when we are paralyzed?

    Ask. Ask for the strength and courage. Beg for it if you have to. It will come. It. Will. Come.

    Inspiring Message of the Day: I am willing to live despite my fear. I am willing to move forward with love in my heart. I’m terrified of what lies ahead and life feels too big for me to handle. But I’m willing because I trust the shift will come and when it does I will be returned to thankfulness and inner peace, which is my true state of being.

    Pull the Trigger

    • March 24, 2011 11:01 am

    Dearest Readers,

    Yesterday I went out to visit a friend who lives about 45 minutes away to celebrate a milestone in her life. We went for a cross-country ski on the frozen lake that is her front yard while the bright sun hung in the sky behind us illuminating the mountains to an almost impossible white.

    For the rest of the afternoon we lounged on her couches, talking and laughing and resting in the quiet peace of the country. We ate a magnificent meal cooked for us by her partner and we celebrated together in the evening with more friends, stories and gifts. I drove back to town in the dark singing out loud to Johnny Cash, Neko Case and Jakob Dylan.

    When I got home I entered the bedroom and there on the beautiful, pure, white quilt that covers the bed were two piles of yellow barf. The cat had coughed up a couple of fur balls. I immediately went into despair.

    Now because I am devoted to the kind of inner work that demands self-searching I had to ask myself, “What is this really about?” Can it be that a little thing like a stained quilt so easily throws me off kilter? Sends me from joy to hopelessness in the blink of an eye?

    No, something else was afoot.

    After scrubbing and soaking the quilt I went into the little room (more like a closet) I use to pray and meditate. This was not a sitting-cross-legged matter. I got down into balasana, the Child’s Pose, on my knees and folded to the floor. I began to pray, seeking answers, going deep, investigating my extreme reaction. What was going on with my emotions?

    The answer came.

    During the evening I had been sharing about something and one of the friends in our circle had laughed at me. I had continued to speak as if his laughter hadn’t affected me but the truth is, it had. And I hadn’t connected to it until this moment.

    Why would someone laughing at me trigger such a reaction? Such despair and such complete and utter defeat? Searching back into the memories of my life I discovered the key.

    My grandparents had a little farm about an hour outside of Toronto and after we left the Yukon we would often visit them on weekends. My grandfather grew vegetables and for some reason his zucchinis grew to outsize proportions. We all marveled at the size of these green beauties, which would expand to become as large as newborn babes.

    As a little girl newly arrived in the big city of Toronto from Whitehorse I thought bringing one of these giant zucchinis to school for show-and-tell would be an excellent idea. Weren’t these anomalies of Nature worth sharing?

    When I got up to the front of the classroom to share my excitement with the class, ready to thrill them with the wonder of this earthly gift I was greeted not by awe but by ridicule. They did not look at each other and say, “Wow, that is AMAZING.” They laughed at me. They laughed at me for bringing in such a ridiculous, embarrassing thing.

    This was a inner-city school. And by that I do not mean “poor”. I mean downtown, urban, upscale Toronto. I was from somewhere else. I was different. I didn’t live in that neighbourhood. My sister and I walked 45 minutes to get there every morning.  I was weird and the zucchini was weird and the kids were uncomfortable and so they laughed.

    I was shocked by their reaction. Stunned, actually. And I’ve shared that story a lot over the years. I’m still good friends with my best girlfriend from those early school days and even she brings up the story for a laugh. But I didn’t know how hurt I’d been and I certainly didn’t know I’d stuffed the hurt away, hidden it inside me in the darkest and most distant of places.

    Once I connected to this memory, now an uncovered wound, I was able to connect to the grief and let it flow. This, in turn, helped me to release some deeper grief over the death of my grandmother, whose farm I had so loved as a child. She died last weekend. My grandfather died just 3 months earlier.  Their lives are over and I miss them.

    And so today I feel fragile.  I shed a bunch more tears this morning. But I am feeling so thankful that I was able to discover the trigger and the hurt underneath it. This kind of work is not easy but it’s so much more productive than blaming a little cat for having a hairball in the wrong spot.

    In my prayer last night I once again thanked the cat, who sometimes feels like an insatiably needy child, for giving me yet another opportunity to know myself a little better and to heal a little bit more of the turbulent past. And thanks to the God of Fur Balls, too.

    Inspiring Message of the Day: When I am triggered by a seemingly mundane occurrence I will take the time to go within and discover the deeper Truth. I will trust that this kind of healing work will bring me the Peace I so desperately need to live well.

    Back to the Drawing Board

    • February 28, 2011 4:52 am

    Dearest Readers,

    It’s 3:48 a.m. and I’m in absolute despair. The cat I live with pounced on me at 3 a.m. and woke me up and it has refueled an absolute ton of murderous rage.

    You may remember my first post ever. It was September 2009. The cat woke me up and I was so upset, so angry that my only recourse was to pray. The answer I received was, “Blog.”

    I’ve been lying in bed praying for help. How is it that a year and a half have gone by since that first awakening and nothing has changed? I’ve done so much work on this relationship (yes, it sounds funny — it’s a cat — but it’s a cat with an anxiety disorder and believe-you-me this little guy has required me to work) in the name of surrender, compassion and unconditional love and still I end up back here? Swearing into the dark with visions of snapping his neck at the forefront of my mind? Horrible. Horrible!

    Again, my only recourse is to pray. So I breathe. Inhale Love, exhale Peace. Inhale Faith, exhale fear. I begin to drift off to sleep. Pounce! He’s back. I pet him, scratch his fur. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. He leaves. I can hear him crunching his food in the kitchen. I’m fading. Sleep is close. Pounce!

    That’s when the rage comes. My prayer turns to vehemence. What the f$#%? What the F&$%ING F#$% AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? Show me. Help me. Please. Please. Because I am completely and utterly at a loss as to how I am supposed to deal with this.

    And then the answer. “Blog.” No. Come on. You’re kidding right?

    Perhaps I should explain where the rage is coming from and why it is so pronounced on this particular morning. After all, this is practically a nightly ritual. Most nights it hardly wakes me. I’ve become so used to it that I can now sleep through the cat’s nocturnal exercises. But this night? I happen to be working on a grant.

    Yup, a grant. And it’s a big one. The application is due on Tuesday. It’s going to take every ounce of energy I have to get it in on time. I went to bed at 10 p.m. last night so I could get 8 hours of sleep and wake up at 6 a.m. This would give me an early enough start to do a full morning practice (prayer, meditation, yoga) and a full day of work on the grant. Good plan, Celia!

    And then the cat ruins my plans. So things have not gone the way I wanted them to go. Bingo. Trigger the control issues. Trigger the rage. And I’ve been on the healing path long enough to know that rage = fear.

    So what is the fear? I’m going to be tired. What happens when I’m tired? I get overwhelmed. What happens when I get overwhelmed? I numb out, give up, check out. I recoil from life.

    One of the thoughts I had when I was praying after the first “pounce” was this: Celia, if you are this upset when something this small doesn’t go your way how in the world are you going to handle it when something BIG doesn’t go your way? The grant application is for funding for a feature film. It’s BIG. Maybe this little thing is preparation. Maybe I’m being shown how to handle setbacks.

    What was that very first Inspiring Message of the Day? What did I learn all those months ago? When something happens to me that I do not like, that feels like cruel and unusual punishment, I will see it as an opportunity for growth. I will use it to change the world, be of service, help others. I will thank the person/place/thing that gave me the lesson, for he/she/it is my greatest teacher.

    So now I have to live out this credo. Now. Eighteen months later. I must accept the lesson anew.

    Alright. Let’s do it. Something has happened to me that I do not like. It feels like cruel and unusual punishment. But is that what it really is? No, it isn’t. Seriously, I’ve just been woken up by a cat. He’s asking for love and attention. But it’s 3 o’clock in the morning. So what? I’m going to be tired. So take a nap. I don’t have time. I have to finish the grant. Ah, the grant.

    The grant represents the film. The film represents something much, much more than anxiety over sleep loss. The film represents a lifelong dream. What if I don’t get the grant and I can’t make the film? Better yet, what if I do get the money? Then what? The film might fail. I might fail. These are the deeper fears. They are the fuel behind the fire of rage. This is why I’m being woken up. To confront my deepest fear of failure.

    Sigh.

    Okay. Walk the talk. Be of service. Blog and share. Thank the teacher. Thank you, cat.

    Now can I please go back to bed? You’re up now. You may as well get a head start on the grant. You’ve got a movie to make, don’t you?

    Inspiring Message of the Day: My anger is a defense mechanism for my fear and I am willing to look at my deepest fears today. I am willing to be changed by this awareness of my shortcomings. I am willing to “wake up”.

    Pray Tell

    • January 27, 2011 9:35 am

    Dearest Readers,

    Tired? Grumpy? Lethargic? Despairing? Anxious? Overwhelmed? All of the above? You’re not alone. On any given day I can experience any number of these fear symptoms. Lately, my number one solution has been simply to pray.

    Get quiet, ask for Direction, listen. All of these actions constitute prayer and with them comes the exquisite sensation of simply dwelling in the Presence of God.

    I heard someone recently say that for her God was a person. That works for her so that’s great. For me, God is not a person. God is the Spirit of Unity Back of All Things. God is the reason why there is something rather than nothing, the Condition of Possibility of any entity whatsoever.

    Neither of those definitions are mine, by the way. They came to me and I grabbed on to them. They make sense to me. They back up my experience. And that is how I have come to know this God. Through experience. Not because someone told me what to believe. The experience of this Power is why I have I faith in its existence.

    But despite my faith I am still self-reliant. And my self-reliance causes me to suffer. I overwork, I future-trip, I judge, I worry, I sabotage myself. I operate on Old BS (belief systems) instead of trusting Higher Guidance. And then I end up in chaos of one kind or another, whether it’s just a wee little bit or full-blown doesn’t matter. I still find myself there. Sigh.

    It is at these times of inner crisis that I remember to pray. Not just pray like I do everyday, sorta kinda doing it because I gotta. But praying deeply. Taking the time to BE. Be with God. Not wonder, not question, not say a few deferential words. But connect. Rest. Dwell in the Great Presence.

    When I embrace the Sacred I am so embraced. The Divine enters and fear disappears. I remember who I am.

    Inspiring Message of the Day: Today I will take time to pray deeply. Shedding all thoughts but One.

    One!

    • September 21, 2010 10:36 am

    Dearest Readers,

    Today is the one year anniversary of Inspiring Message of the Day. I just went back and read the very first post, which I wrote in response to hearing the Still Small Voice say, “Get up and write a blog.”

    “Huh?” I remember thinking, “Are you completely serious?” But I listened. And if you look at the time of that post it says “5:47 a.m.” And that was an hour after getting up and figuring out Blogger and then writing the darn thing. Case in point: I obeyed the command despite its seemingly bizarre nature.

    As I was pondering what to write on this momentous occasion I thought about all the things I could say. The most obvious one is that I achieved a goal. This is huge. I committed to posting six days a week for one year and I actually did that without fail. Granted, some posts are better than others but nevertheless I did it. So “clink” and congratulations, Celia.

    There were other goals that came out of the blog that I achieved as well. I made a commitment in Run For Your Life to do one form of cardiovascular exercise a week in addition to my daily yoga practice. And guess what? I’ve kept that up, too. As I was running up those Black St. stairs two at a time yesterday I thought, “My body has changed.” A year ago I was huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf.

    But here is the question that is really begging to be answered. Have I changed the thing that prompted the blog in the first place? That rage that powered the prayer to help me not strangle the cat?

    Yes. And no.

    The rage can still come up. So that’s not gone. Maybe it never will be. But the force at which it arrives has lessened considerably. The cat hasn’t jumped on my stomach for a long time. Coincidence? Probably not. Now when he cries at 5 a.m. I pat him, scratch his ears, talk to him quietly and lift up the covers so he can snuggle underneath them with me. And then we both go back to sleep. Some kind of Surrender had to take place in me and I had to let It in.

    Yesterday I had a major deadline to meet. I was at Staples making copies and things were not going my way. The copier printed 170 pages of my work with a big black line through each one. The 3-hole punch was on the wrong setting and the holes in 120 pages were skewed. I could feel that old rage starting to boil.

    I took a deep breath and said, “Please help me. I can’t handle this.”

    Moments later a woman who might be called the town loonie came stomping into the store. She was having some kind of psychotic episode. She was ranting unintelligibly and everyone just kind of stopped and stared. She did a tour around the cash registers and then she left.

    This woman just happens to be one of my Symbols. There she was. Appearing almost immediately after I’d asked for Higher Guidance. I relaxed. Look at your life, Celia. Look at what you have. Your problems are not really problems. Things fell into their proper perspective.

    Thinking back to a year ago and that morning of the first blog I can see the difference between who I was then and who I am now. Yes, I have changed. And I will continue to change if I continue to ask for that Help. I can’t do it by myself. I need something Greater, something More Powerful than my little old self. That part, thank goodness, hasn’t changed.

    This is by no means the last blog, Dearest Readers, but I am going to take a bit of a break. I have a play to write and this precious time I take to post each day must now be used for that.

    Thank you, thank you, thank you, a million times thank you for reading. Thank you for being there, for being You, for Be-ing. You are amazing!

    Inspiring Message of the Day: When I am in need of Great Strength I will continue to ask for It. I will ask no matter where I am and no matter what I am doing. Today I will trust that when I ask for help It will come. It will come.

    Not To Be Confused With Poutine

    • August 11, 2010 8:42 am

    Dearest Readers,

    A few years ago a friend introduced me to the concept of poustinia, a word originally meaning a cabin where one goes to pray and commune with God. The way my friend described it, the word embodied the entire retreat experience, not just the cabin. So instead of saying, “I’m going to a poustinia,” one might say, “I’m going on poustinia.”

    I’m going on poustinia.

    Yesterday I had a session with my spiritual director and that wise decision was one of the outcomes of our session. After a two-month adventure and a couple of weeks back in full-swing mode I need some really focused time to reflect, to integrate, and to discern.

    What I realized yesterday is that the time in the morning that I take, the time in the evening that I set aside, the Sunday “sabbath” I do my best to practice, are, of course, all good. Just not presently cutting it.

    And it’s not enough to just “take a day off”. Inevitably I’ll end up engaged in some kind of activity that takes me away from the Quiet. To retreat from stimulation of all kinds, to experience the Higher Connection, I need to go somewhere, a cabin or a campground, and be in the Silence.

    So I’ve committed to going on poustinia not this weekend but next. Thank you to my SD, who is so very good at helping me to see what I need.

    So going “to” or going “on”, it don’t matter, I’m going period.

    Inspiring Message of the Day: How do I feel about the idea of going on a personal, silent retreat? No distraction, no interaction, no noise. Just me and the Great Silence. I will explore my feelings around the idea of poustinia and see if one might be in order in my own life.

    Day Eight

    • June 14, 2010 3:55 am

    Dearest Readers,

    Here I am in Kitchener, Ontario, for the Magnetic North Theatre Festival and outside the birds are chirping up a storm as the day breaks. They are competing with the endless rush of traffic that whooshes by on the street below, a main thoroughfare. Amazing how we co-exist, isn’t it?

    Each morning I have ritual that I call my spiritual practice. It involves prayer, meditation and yoga. I usually read from some kind of devotional literature and this morning’s reading talked about the idea of inner change leading to outer change, which happens to be something I believe very strongly.

    Here is a caption:

    “It is not your circumstances that need altering so much as yourself. After you have changed, conditions will naturally change.”

    This tenet is one of the basics of metaphysics: my belief systems are creating my reality. This, of course, is easier to swallow when things are going well. When things are not going so well it is tougher to accept the idea that I might have something to do with it.

    But here’s the part I like: It’s not my fault. And here’s the catch: it is my responsibility. If I’m attracting negativity I’m not a bad person and doing it all wrong. I just have a faulty belief system that needs rewiring. In order to change and be changed I must be willing to do the inner work. Only for that am I responsible.

    For years I would attract car accidents. Thank goodness I made it out alive and uninjured every single time. But it was wild, I’m tellin’ ya. The last one was in the north of BC on a logging road and as the truck went off the road and flipped over onto its side I actually said to myself, “Here we go again.”

    Now I could choose to believe that this was a lot of bad luck or I could choose to look at it metaphysically. What needs to “crash” on the inside? Well, my whole Way Of Being, frankly. I needed to change my entire friggin’ life. And finally I did. No more accidents. For today 😉

    I’m not perfect. The Old BS (belief systems) that are presently in the process of being extracted are stubborn and tough hangers-on. I’m having to practice patience big-time right now because I just want them (one in particular) GONE. But I’m not the Do-er. I’m just the gal through whom the Do-er works.

    So this morning, as the darkness turned to grey and then to a lighter grey (no sun in Kitchener today) I prayed for that “altering” of myself one more time and the patience to live with my imperfect Self for another day. I remain willing and I let go of the desire to spin the planet.

    And the birds sing on.

    Inspiring Message of the Day: If my outward circumstances need changing I will start with my inner life. What is broken? Where can I be healed? I will ask for Guidance and become willing to change and be changed.