(14)
Pretend to close your eyes and imagine yourself floating above the ground while you continue to read. Now, will your body to fade away—as you float into our kitchen, transparent and unseen, on that fateful November afternoon in 1946.
Next, picture yourself shadowing my Grandma, as though you and she are one. Imagine the two of you, gliding in synchronized slow motion, through the kitchen—past my mother and father, who are laughing at my attempts to mimic Daddy's trilling whistle.
Imagine Grandma striding—right next to your shadowy self, floating—through the kitchen doorway and across the dining room.
Once you and Grandma have crossed the dining room, you'll reach the screened door, leading onto our back porch ... at this point, please stop floating and just hover, while we freeze Grandma in place. Now, allow your shadowy presence to push your ghostlike head straight through the screen of that unlocked door.
Wait! Don’t look into the buggy, which is to the left of the door. Look straight ahead at the late afternoon clouds in the sky. While some are unthreatening, fluffy and white, most have turned chillingly dark.
Between the light and the dark, focus your eyes on two small, gray clouds, floating side by side. Now, visualize these clouds in the process of changing—evolving, converging, shaping up differently than before, just like both sides of LIFE.
As the tail of one little, gray cloud conjoins with the tail of the other, an hourglass, lying on its side, shapes up within our mind's eye. The reason that you and I can see this process of change, shaping up, so clearly, is because we are fully aware of each step taking place. In short, our focus has not been diverted elsewhere. On the other hand, common sense suggests that those listening from afar or observing, every now and then, are likely to be less aware or even oblivious of ominous changes, which are growing darkly obvious to you and me. At this point, please stand the hourglass up and imagine the last few grains of sand, passing through its narrow channel, symbolizing the last few seconds of a family's idealistic sense of emotional security ebbing away.
Since any life story is written in hindsight, I’d like to show you something that none of us, especially Grandma—who'd feared a righteous God—had thought to visualize, when I was three, so please ...
Pretend to close your eyes and imagine yourself floating above the ground while you continue to read. Now, will your body to fade away—as you float into our kitchen, transparent and unseen, on that fateful November afternoon in 1946.
Next, picture yourself shadowing my Grandma, as though you and she are one. Imagine the two of you, gliding in synchronized slow motion, through the kitchen—past my mother and father, who are laughing at my attempts to mimic Daddy's trilling whistle.
Imagine Grandma striding—right next to your shadowy self, floating—through the kitchen doorway and across the dining room.
Once you and Grandma have crossed the dining room, you'll reach the screened door, leading onto our back porch ... at this point, please stop floating and just hover, while we freeze Grandma in place. Now, allow your shadowy presence to push your ghostlike head straight through the screen of that unlocked door.
Wait! Don’t look into the buggy, which is to the left of the door. Look straight ahead at the late afternoon clouds in the sky. While some are unthreatening, fluffy and white, most have turned chillingly dark.
Between the light and the dark, focus your eyes on two small, gray clouds, floating side by side. Now, visualize these clouds in the process of changing—evolving, converging, shaping up differently than before, just like both sides of LIFE.
As the tail of one little, gray cloud conjoins with the tail of the other, an hourglass, lying on its side, shapes up within our mind's eye. The reason that you and I can see this process of change, shaping up, so clearly, is because we are fully aware of each step taking place. In short, our focus has not been diverted elsewhere. On the other hand, common sense suggests that those listening from afar or observing, every now and then, are likely to be less aware or even oblivious of ominous changes, which are growing darkly obvious to you and me. At this point, please stand the hourglass up and imagine the last few grains of sand, passing through its narrow channel, symbolizing the last few seconds of a family's idealistic sense of emotional security ebbing away.
As this small configuration of clouds continues to alter, watch the standing hourglass elongate into the slender shape of a lovely lady, clothed in a long, gossamer gown of ‘neutral’ gray. Though the lady's given name is Fate, she answers to the nickname, Luck. And while we pause for a moment to consider the speed with which mankind's false sense of safety slips away, let's watch the impartial mouth of the wind blowing the translucent fabric of Luck's full length gown, gently, around her shapely legs.
Now watching the wind pick up, let's bolster ourselves against whatever may come while we take a closer look at what Luck is holding in her up turned, open, left palm. Luck is holding forth her best attempts to balance the scales of justice while the wind blows the length of her spun gold hair straight back from her expressionless, clear blue eyes. And as the wind whips up, swinging Luck's scales up and down, let's listen as they clang against each other, like cymbals, crashing discordantly—repeatedly.
Now watching the wind pick up, let's bolster ourselves against whatever may come while we take a closer look at what Luck is holding in her up turned, open, left palm. Luck is holding forth her best attempts to balance the scales of justice while the wind blows the length of her spun gold hair straight back from her expressionless, clear blue eyes. And as the wind whips up, swinging Luck's scales up and down, let's listen as they clang against each other, like cymbals, crashing discordantly—repeatedly.
While the scales toll, like bells, ringing out an alarm, we spy Luck’s right hand beginning to rise from it’s restful place at her side. Now while those scales continue to dangle and crash within Luck's upturned, left palm, imagine her right arm stretching gracefully over her head. Then if we watch closely, you and I will see Luck's right hand, held high in the air over her head, folding into a fist, while one finger, the pointer to be exact, frees itself in hopes of directing our attention toward those last few sunbeams, streaming through dark clouds, which have continued to gather, ominously, above her comely head.
On a clear day, the angelic grace of this lovely lady is brightly gowned in billowing clouds of white, offering the eye a heavenly sight, floating across a clear, blue sky. As there's reason for everything, today, Luck is gowned in gray. And all too soon, this comely lass will feel so blue as to darken her gray gown to black.
You see, before tomorrow's dawn, black clouds of mourning will grow as heavy as inconsolable grief, causing the classic features of Luck's lovely face to furrow into a frown as deep as frowns of foreboding, which are surely forming on your face and mine as I write.
While despairing grief is still several seconds away, let's picture a flock of five well nourished ducks—soaring high in the sky—until, unexpectedly—one is randomly shot down, causing this quintet of high-flying spirits to plummet to four, all of which will soon be sucked into those winds of change, which had caused Luck's scales to crash—clang, clang, clang.
Upon visualizing each bird in the flock blindsided by grief, losing sight of direction, one crashing into the next, we see the whiplash speed with which a shocking change in emotional climate swirls a family's sense of security into the eye of a tornado-sized gale. And though each defense system tries to close its eyes to the aftereffects of this storm, in truth, the strain of 'acting' normal will drain every last grain of energy out of Luck's sense of inner peace. So right here, I think its wise to note the importance of honoring the truth of whatever each of us truly feels, deep inside ... other wise baggage continues to accumulate, and excess emotional baggage, which weighs heavy on the spirit, is bound to affect the paths we each choose to tread as life moves forward.
At this point in my story, Fate is about to toss a small child's sense of Lady Luck aside, and her energy source will receive so severe a shaking that thoughts of this lady with her head in the clouds will be replaced with nothing more than a discombobulated sense of emptiness at her core. And no matter how hard Lady Luck works to regain this child's positive focus, every strength she'd naturally begun to absorb between birth and three will spin, like a series of tops, out of control, until, her mind gives way to a dizzied state of utter exhaustion, because within the next few moments, life will feel too complicated to understand until such time as the spirit of Socrates hovers near enough to whisper—Know thyself—into her open adult ear. Luckily, this child will grow into a woman whose mind remains open to learning—and because of that, simplicity of thought will one day be hers. (If this was a fairy tale, today's story would end right here with—and the little girl grew up to live happily ever after. However, this is the beginning of true tale of my life and since I've not even turned three ... we'd best turn our minds toward the back porch, where the painful truth waits to emerge ...
On a clear day, the angelic grace of this lovely lady is brightly gowned in billowing clouds of white, offering the eye a heavenly sight, floating across a clear, blue sky. As there's reason for everything, today, Luck is gowned in gray. And all too soon, this comely lass will feel so blue as to darken her gray gown to black.
You see, before tomorrow's dawn, black clouds of mourning will grow as heavy as inconsolable grief, causing the classic features of Luck's lovely face to furrow into a frown as deep as frowns of foreboding, which are surely forming on your face and mine as I write.
While despairing grief is still several seconds away, let's picture a flock of five well nourished ducks—soaring high in the sky—until, unexpectedly—one is randomly shot down, causing this quintet of high-flying spirits to plummet to four, all of which will soon be sucked into those winds of change, which had caused Luck's scales to crash—clang, clang, clang.
Upon visualizing each bird in the flock blindsided by grief, losing sight of direction, one crashing into the next, we see the whiplash speed with which a shocking change in emotional climate swirls a family's sense of security into the eye of a tornado-sized gale. And though each defense system tries to close its eyes to the aftereffects of this storm, in truth, the strain of 'acting' normal will drain every last grain of energy out of Luck's sense of inner peace. So right here, I think its wise to note the importance of honoring the truth of whatever each of us truly feels, deep inside ... other wise baggage continues to accumulate, and excess emotional baggage, which weighs heavy on the spirit, is bound to affect the paths we each choose to tread as life moves forward.
At this point in my story, Fate is about to toss a small child's sense of Lady Luck aside, and her energy source will receive so severe a shaking that thoughts of this lady with her head in the clouds will be replaced with nothing more than a discombobulated sense of emptiness at her core. And no matter how hard Lady Luck works to regain this child's positive focus, every strength she'd naturally begun to absorb between birth and three will spin, like a series of tops, out of control, until, her mind gives way to a dizzied state of utter exhaustion, because within the next few moments, life will feel too complicated to understand until such time as the spirit of Socrates hovers near enough to whisper—Know thyself—into her open adult ear. Luckily, this child will grow into a woman whose mind remains open to learning—and because of that, simplicity of thought will one day be hers. (If this was a fairy tale, today's story would end right here with—and the little girl grew up to live happily ever after. However, this is the beginning of true tale of my life and since I've not even turned three ... we'd best turn our minds toward the back porch, where the painful truth waits to emerge ...
As the danger of discovering the painful truth, lying in the buggy, is just seconds beyond my grandma's sense of awareness, let's take one last innocent look up at the sky and follow the well groomed tip of Lady Luck’s pointer until we spy something tiny, shiny, silver and round suspended several inches above and a smidgen to the right of her pink painted nail. Can you name what this shiny thing is? No? Okay ... Since the last grains of sand in the hour glass are slipping away, there's no time to waste, so here are two hints in one: This tiny, shiny, silver, round shape is not a falling star— and it is spiraling—up.
Sorry. The clock stops ticking for no one's innocence, and we need to make haste, so it's time to stop guessing and just listen up:
Sorry. The clock stops ticking for no one's innocence, and we need to make haste, so it's time to stop guessing and just listen up:
It’s the dime. The dime that FATE tosses high in the air, so that we, who watch it spiraling up before spiraling down-down-down, feel our hearts clutch so tightly in our chests that it's almost impossible to breathe while we cling desperately to hope that all will work out for the best—until finally, the descending glint of this shiny coin lands and spins, round and round, on the gray slatted, wood floor of our back porch—three stories above a well manicured lawn, framed with colorful flowers—symbolizing a moment of beauty—not yet trampled, changed and frozen into a fearsome memory from my distant past.
Finally the dime falls, stops spinning and lays flat, meaning that Luck—Fate—call it what you will—has determined that—
Finally the dime falls, stops spinning and lays flat, meaning that Luck—Fate—call it what you will—has determined that—
‘Heads’—
Dark clouds will disperse, frowns will smile, spirits soar and all will be well—
‘ Tails’—
Thunder rumbles and lightening cracks as many families, living in that massive, three-story, brown brick apartment building, gather in their kitchens, pull out their chairs, sit down round their dinner tables, and talk, laugh, squabble, pass food, eat, and drink as usual—while—one family rings their hands in despair ...
Destiny, rather than responsibility and goodness, is today’s deciding factor.
No childhood inoculation provides immunity from Fate.
Deeper truth suggests that life is truly a gamble at best
As narrator, I face this choice:
I can sketch in this next scene very briefly, and you'll conceive of Janet’s death as having been exceptionally sad, but your mind will not shift into the eeriness of Déjà vu, which revives my experience of panic, shock, horror and devastation, thundering down upon my family after tragedy influenced changes in the course of family life as well as unforeseen changes within our relationships—with ourselves and each other.
Since the confounding nature of my baby sister’s death is about to catalyze a series of frightful changes, confounding us all, it’s my responsibility, as narrator, to flesh in the lasting nature of the pain that Janet’s untimely demise tattooed into the minds of her family as a whole. And though I have sound reason to believe that three forthcoming details may explain why a three year old's brain developed specific character traits that fall out of line with those most often attributed to a first born child, I admit to feeling conflicted about reviving these most painful aspects of déjà vu, which had scared me out of my wits and into Denialand at a highly vulnerable, developmental stage when my mind was too young to understand the meaning of death. On second thought ... what do I understand of death, now—other than the fact that once a loved one has 'passed', he or she never returns to that which we perceive as this life ...
On the other hand this trio of unrevealed details—which instinct suggests I withhold for good reason until a post down the line—is vital to understanding why the soft clay of a three-year-old mind remodeled in such a way as to strengthen my need for self imposed emotional restraint until experience offered me reason to unload my train load of baggage—little by little—by pulling into one station after another, where insight into self awareness welcomed me to examine fear, buried right next to my core—instead of allowing my ego's unhealed wounds to fling subconscious pain around while casting blame at everyone I love for the rest of my life. And since that's a very good thing, I guess it's safe to surmise that Lady Luck did not abandon this duckling, after all :)
Need an example of Luck smiling at me? Lucky for me, a young cousin and niece pestered me to write this blog every time we came together. And every time subconscious pain blocks me from divulging a detail too painful to safely reveal, as of yet, you'll watch me post around inner conflict instead of allowing writer's block to paralyze my mind. Each time you watch me post around another subconscious conflict, you'll see me mustering the courage to instruct my sixth sense to ope a series of locked doors. And while fishing for insight into memories, blocked from conscious awareness, in hopes of achieving moments of clarity, you'll watch how a person, practiced in the Line of Control, steadies nerves in hopes of readying my mind to release the most difficult parts of each story that I feel the need to write—and this round-about plan proves to be my mental process for two reasons: One, I hope to free myself of as much subconscious pain—which limits my ability to enjoy today's good fortunes with attention to thoroughness—as possible. And two, I hope to encourage others, who choose to ride sidekick through my story, to dive toward insight into freeing themselves of baggage, as well. BTW need it be said that I hope to remain addicted to hope, forever? :)
*Though it's true that frightful events may change the course of each life to different degrees, it's what takes place in the wake of tragedy that determines the degree of fear, which may or may not usurp control over each surviver's mind. I mean, think about it: I've not yet told you how Fate ripped a three year old's sense of personal safety in half. What I do feel safe revealing, right now, is this: Once Fate strips away a small child's sense of safety, a false sense of safety—which we all need to some degree to function successfully—will rise to the surface, and in my case, that false sense of safety served to bolster the smile I showed to the world no matter how often silent tears soaked my pillow by night.
In retrospect, I've come to understand my need to seek out, absorb and share communication skills over most of my adult life. You see, while encouraging others, most especially my offspring, to open up honestly to themselves about themselves, I've brain washed myself to do the same. By way of seeking insight into simplifying my complexities, I've grown aware of the vital importance of communicating openly and honestly, first with myself before I can expect to be honest with you. This proves a difficult feat when memories, too fearsome to bear, remain hidden behind defensive walls within my subconscious.
In order to free the conscious portion of my mind of stress at times when a vital aspect of life is barreling down hill, I've learned to sit my ego in time out for this reason: Left on its own, a fearful ego tends to rob my memory of reality by deleting or reconstructing crucial details of my history, thereby eradicating fear or erasing feelings of accountability. As long as an ego is free to fib to itself, clarity in terms of reality remains cloudy, and in this way do defensive thoughts block logical problem solving from taking place. In it's unrestrained state, the ego is like a watch dog, locking deeper truths inside a vault, behind insecurity's defensive walls.
*Once you believe your own fibs, The Blame Game huffs and puffs hot winds, scattering crucial details of bigger pictures into 500 piece puzzles that make no sense at all. Each time any aspect of my life grows so puzzling as to dizzy my mind, I recognize a need to retrace my steps in hopes of identifying strengths, which I've claimed as my own but, in truth, remain in a half baked state.
For most of my life, I'd 'seen' my childhood as simply happy. I accomplished that feat by blocking the after effects of Janet's death, by numbing my reactions while being bullied on the Hebrew bus and by accepting Joseph's heart-piercing 'hatred' quietly instead of recognizing that after pushing him away, I'd never spoken to him, suggesting it likely that both of us misunderstood each other's reactions.
Since my smile sparkled throughout each day, who could have had a clue that behind my defensive walls, I'd harbored subconscious memories, which gnawed instinctively into my spirit's sense of peace? In yesterday's world, who knew of my need to uncover pain, buried raw, so deep within my subconscious that emotional distress emerged only in the still of the night, when, itching to get out of my skin, I'd scratched until tell-tale blood marred the white of my pillow ... in today world, that's all a pediatrician would need know ...
As fate would have it, today, I seek out guidance when my mind feels so sadly confused that an unknown weight causes my high flying spirit to sag. As luck would have it, I love to write, and while diving into my mind, my sixth sense stumbles upon insights, which encourage me to reflect ever more deeply into those times when life had been a bitch.
As one insight leads to another, old perceptions are reviewed in a newly expanded light until—lo and behold—another subconscious dark spot is illuminated in so surprising a way that undeserved guilt, otherwise known as baggage, slips away. As baggage lightens, self trust strengthens until my spirit feels as re-energized as a mind is able to relax while vacationing from stress by enjoying a string of sunny days at the beach.
It's important to note that in order for old perceptions to change a person's reflective powers must deepen. For example, at this point I am actually glad to know that my mind took refuge in denial for this reason: As fear forced my mind to focus upon the sunniest aspects of life, I habitually bitched less often than most—on the other hand, I currently appreciate the advantage of having learned to balance my sunny outlook with quietly seeking insight into my past. If asked why I think to turn my face, most often, toward the sunny side of life, today—I reply—what we think we become, pointing to the fact that though I'd once seemed one dimensional, today, my outlook embraces the entire spectrum of emotion, suggesting that you'll not find me giving lip service to embracing the concept of balance in all things :)
Though life scared me half to death, early on, I've watched my spirit inspire both sides of my mind to conjoin in hopes of enticing courage to overcome fear, thus allowing me to take flying leaps of faith out of the tower, where a person's false sense of safety holds memory hostage. Each time I've worked to peel away a defensive wall in hopes of staring a fearsome experience in the eye, I've landed, smack in the middle of a safety net, held aloft by loved ones, who know my mind so well as to humor my vulnerabilities while respecting my strengths. And feeling cradled within such loving support, this lucky duck continues to work actively but quietly at exposing raw wounds that my ego had secreted away at times when my conscious mind had felt too fearfully defensive to face truth, squarely, head on.
Each time my sixth sense suggests my need to soak my mind in Walden Pond, I check into old memories in hopes of unloading baggage. Each time I strike another mother load, my spirit re-charges, and my heart feels light enough to frolic along a path where new adventures entice me to experiment with expanding the elasticity of narrow comfort zones, again.
If asked to divulge which insights were the most difficult to swallow, here is what I'd say: I've come to see which amongst my loved ones had developed the strength to hold up their end of my safety net when I was blind to myself vs those who had not developed the inner strength to help me up rather than striking at my vulnerabilities when I fell down.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
Up Above the world so high
Like a diamond, spirit sparkling in the sky ...
Until tragedy hits so surprisingly hard that
Dark clouds, heavy with dread
Flood mind and heart with
Such an abundance of confusion and fear that
Denial sets in and all a child's mind chooses to see
Are bright beams of sunlight cascading, all around—because
The mere possibility of storm clouds thundering down, again
Might cause this child's mind to lose control over
False sense of safety, again ...
Sooo ... each time life proves too complex to fathom
This child's defense system creates a state of sunny simplicity
Suggesting that with a shrug of one's shoulder
Dark clouds, casting shadows of self doubt, are gone and
Lightening storms, crackling with doom, gloom and inner conflict
Are dismissed ... and once ensconced in Denialand
This defense mechanism will serve a dark haired, blue eyed child well until
She grows up to find the perfect storm arising...
Tearing straight through her spirit's eternal lightness of being
At which time ...
My blindness to that which I'd needed to know about myself ...
Could not deny subconscious truth, boiling over defensive walls
Arousing an inactive volcano to erupt with such lava-like angst
That my mind saw the wisdom of seeking the path of self discovery, at last ...
Twinkle, twinkle clear-eyed mind
Posting daily, hoping that you, too, may choose
To open your eyes and ears to insight into deeper truths
Hiding behind defensive walls
So that your spirit may begin to live larger rather than smaller
As no child escapes from childhood utterly unscathed
Common sense suggests that some threatening presence
Will haunt your sense of inner peace until
Truth speaks through your walls as it slips through mine:
Bottom line: That which you choose not to know can hurt you
Every bit as much as sticks and stones breaks your bones
On the other hand, as more of us choose to work mindfully toward
Mustering the courage to be true to one's deepest self
We'll come to understand the importance of
Considering the needs of of everyone we love ...
Including our own :)
Bottom line: Each time my conscious mind thinks to buddy up with my subconscious, a new found sense of mindful wholeness frees me to express my needs in wholesome ways that enrich my sense of inner peace. As inner peace increases in direct proportion to my newfound sense of wholeness, I feel inspired to hunt down scary secrets that I lock fearfully away from my conscious self. Since secrets arouse curiosity and life overflows with mysterious goings on, my spirit feels eager to see where each next train of thought takes the story of my life, next ...
P.S. For the life of me, I could not figure out why so many paragraphs in this post refused to indent! On the other hand, life offers us such taxing puzzles to figure out, I chose to stop worrying my mind with small stuff, like this. And guess what happened, next? That positive mind shift lessened my frustration, immediately—and as soon as my mind felt unstressed, intelligence kicked in. So instead of indenting, I simply chose to space each paragraph that refused to cooperate apart from the last. This suggests that conscious mind shifts catalyze two positive changes: First, we enhance our ability to accept that which we do not yet understand. Secondly, creativity pops up, suggesting we alter a path that offered nothing other than more frustration. And if, sometime later, the mind fathoms questions left unanswered then more power to those who work at deepening awareness, one patient step at a time.
Once I became aware of Mother Nature empowering me with the gift of choosing to shift my mind sets, my sixth sense kicked in, and I stopped feeling like a caged gerbil running on a wheel. Today, when an experience confuses my sense of direction, I choose to dive deeper into my mind until my sixth sense feels a need to question one of my mind sets.
While reading my posts, you play witness to trains of thought questioning mind sets until my trust in my sixth sense settles upon examining a mind shift in need of changing with the times. Example? During the sixties, I'd not dared to have lived with a man I'd loved before marriage. Today, common sense suggests the wisdom of taste tests before vowing to accept unchanging baggage for an entire lifetime.
With each step I take on this path, where diving more deeply into memory frees me from misperceptions that limited my choices, I listen closely when my sixth sense cajoles me to expand my sense of adventure by taking another courageous leap of faith ... and since I've not yet taken another person to an unhealthy place, I continue to believe that self examination has been elemental in determining the successful path of my life—thus far. And that thought brings to mind the end of a nursery rhyme, enjoyed by the instinctive mind of a dark haired, blue eyed, three year old child who grew into a woman, whose independent mind smiles at this thought ... twinkle, twinkle—lucky star ... seeking insight into deeper truth in hopes that lucky duck enjoys sunny days where peace of mind conjoin with itch free nights of restful sleep :)
I can sketch in this next scene very briefly, and you'll conceive of Janet’s death as having been exceptionally sad, but your mind will not shift into the eeriness of Déjà vu, which revives my experience of panic, shock, horror and devastation, thundering down upon my family after tragedy influenced changes in the course of family life as well as unforeseen changes within our relationships—with ourselves and each other.
Since the confounding nature of my baby sister’s death is about to catalyze a series of frightful changes, confounding us all, it’s my responsibility, as narrator, to flesh in the lasting nature of the pain that Janet’s untimely demise tattooed into the minds of her family as a whole. And though I have sound reason to believe that three forthcoming details may explain why a three year old's brain developed specific character traits that fall out of line with those most often attributed to a first born child, I admit to feeling conflicted about reviving these most painful aspects of déjà vu, which had scared me out of my wits and into Denialand at a highly vulnerable, developmental stage when my mind was too young to understand the meaning of death. On second thought ... what do I understand of death, now—other than the fact that once a loved one has 'passed', he or she never returns to that which we perceive as this life ...
On the other hand this trio of unrevealed details—which instinct suggests I withhold for good reason until a post down the line—is vital to understanding why the soft clay of a three-year-old mind remodeled in such a way as to strengthen my need for self imposed emotional restraint until experience offered me reason to unload my train load of baggage—little by little—by pulling into one station after another, where insight into self awareness welcomed me to examine fear, buried right next to my core—instead of allowing my ego's unhealed wounds to fling subconscious pain around while casting blame at everyone I love for the rest of my life. And since that's a very good thing, I guess it's safe to surmise that Lady Luck did not abandon this duckling, after all :)
Need an example of Luck smiling at me? Lucky for me, a young cousin and niece pestered me to write this blog every time we came together. And every time subconscious pain blocks me from divulging a detail too painful to safely reveal, as of yet, you'll watch me post around inner conflict instead of allowing writer's block to paralyze my mind. Each time you watch me post around another subconscious conflict, you'll see me mustering the courage to instruct my sixth sense to ope a series of locked doors. And while fishing for insight into memories, blocked from conscious awareness, in hopes of achieving moments of clarity, you'll watch how a person, practiced in the Line of Control, steadies nerves in hopes of readying my mind to release the most difficult parts of each story that I feel the need to write—and this round-about plan proves to be my mental process for two reasons: One, I hope to free myself of as much subconscious pain—which limits my ability to enjoy today's good fortunes with attention to thoroughness—as possible. And two, I hope to encourage others, who choose to ride sidekick through my story, to dive toward insight into freeing themselves of baggage, as well. BTW need it be said that I hope to remain addicted to hope, forever? :)
*Though it's true that frightful events may change the course of each life to different degrees, it's what takes place in the wake of tragedy that determines the degree of fear, which may or may not usurp control over each surviver's mind. I mean, think about it: I've not yet told you how Fate ripped a three year old's sense of personal safety in half. What I do feel safe revealing, right now, is this: Once Fate strips away a small child's sense of safety, a false sense of safety—which we all need to some degree to function successfully—will rise to the surface, and in my case, that false sense of safety served to bolster the smile I showed to the world no matter how often silent tears soaked my pillow by night.
In retrospect, I've come to understand my need to seek out, absorb and share communication skills over most of my adult life. You see, while encouraging others, most especially my offspring, to open up honestly to themselves about themselves, I've brain washed myself to do the same. By way of seeking insight into simplifying my complexities, I've grown aware of the vital importance of communicating openly and honestly, first with myself before I can expect to be honest with you. This proves a difficult feat when memories, too fearsome to bear, remain hidden behind defensive walls within my subconscious.
In order to free the conscious portion of my mind of stress at times when a vital aspect of life is barreling down hill, I've learned to sit my ego in time out for this reason: Left on its own, a fearful ego tends to rob my memory of reality by deleting or reconstructing crucial details of my history, thereby eradicating fear or erasing feelings of accountability. As long as an ego is free to fib to itself, clarity in terms of reality remains cloudy, and in this way do defensive thoughts block logical problem solving from taking place. In it's unrestrained state, the ego is like a watch dog, locking deeper truths inside a vault, behind insecurity's defensive walls.
*Once you believe your own fibs, The Blame Game huffs and puffs hot winds, scattering crucial details of bigger pictures into 500 piece puzzles that make no sense at all. Each time any aspect of my life grows so puzzling as to dizzy my mind, I recognize a need to retrace my steps in hopes of identifying strengths, which I've claimed as my own but, in truth, remain in a half baked state.
For most of my life, I'd 'seen' my childhood as simply happy. I accomplished that feat by blocking the after effects of Janet's death, by numbing my reactions while being bullied on the Hebrew bus and by accepting Joseph's heart-piercing 'hatred' quietly instead of recognizing that after pushing him away, I'd never spoken to him, suggesting it likely that both of us misunderstood each other's reactions.
Since my smile sparkled throughout each day, who could have had a clue that behind my defensive walls, I'd harbored subconscious memories, which gnawed instinctively into my spirit's sense of peace? In yesterday's world, who knew of my need to uncover pain, buried raw, so deep within my subconscious that emotional distress emerged only in the still of the night, when, itching to get out of my skin, I'd scratched until tell-tale blood marred the white of my pillow ... in today world, that's all a pediatrician would need know ...
As fate would have it, today, I seek out guidance when my mind feels so sadly confused that an unknown weight causes my high flying spirit to sag. As luck would have it, I love to write, and while diving into my mind, my sixth sense stumbles upon insights, which encourage me to reflect ever more deeply into those times when life had been a bitch.
As one insight leads to another, old perceptions are reviewed in a newly expanded light until—lo and behold—another subconscious dark spot is illuminated in so surprising a way that undeserved guilt, otherwise known as baggage, slips away. As baggage lightens, self trust strengthens until my spirit feels as re-energized as a mind is able to relax while vacationing from stress by enjoying a string of sunny days at the beach.
It's important to note that in order for old perceptions to change a person's reflective powers must deepen. For example, at this point I am actually glad to know that my mind took refuge in denial for this reason: As fear forced my mind to focus upon the sunniest aspects of life, I habitually bitched less often than most—on the other hand, I currently appreciate the advantage of having learned to balance my sunny outlook with quietly seeking insight into my past. If asked why I think to turn my face, most often, toward the sunny side of life, today—I reply—what we think we become, pointing to the fact that though I'd once seemed one dimensional, today, my outlook embraces the entire spectrum of emotion, suggesting that you'll not find me giving lip service to embracing the concept of balance in all things :)
Though life scared me half to death, early on, I've watched my spirit inspire both sides of my mind to conjoin in hopes of enticing courage to overcome fear, thus allowing me to take flying leaps of faith out of the tower, where a person's false sense of safety holds memory hostage. Each time I've worked to peel away a defensive wall in hopes of staring a fearsome experience in the eye, I've landed, smack in the middle of a safety net, held aloft by loved ones, who know my mind so well as to humor my vulnerabilities while respecting my strengths. And feeling cradled within such loving support, this lucky duck continues to work actively but quietly at exposing raw wounds that my ego had secreted away at times when my conscious mind had felt too fearfully defensive to face truth, squarely, head on.
Each time my sixth sense suggests my need to soak my mind in Walden Pond, I check into old memories in hopes of unloading baggage. Each time I strike another mother load, my spirit re-charges, and my heart feels light enough to frolic along a path where new adventures entice me to experiment with expanding the elasticity of narrow comfort zones, again.
If asked to divulge which insights were the most difficult to swallow, here is what I'd say: I've come to see which amongst my loved ones had developed the strength to hold up their end of my safety net when I was blind to myself vs those who had not developed the inner strength to help me up rather than striking at my vulnerabilities when I fell down.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
Up Above the world so high
Like a diamond, spirit sparkling in the sky ...
Until tragedy hits so surprisingly hard that
Dark clouds, heavy with dread
Flood mind and heart with
Such an abundance of confusion and fear that
Denial sets in and all a child's mind chooses to see
Are bright beams of sunlight cascading, all around—because
The mere possibility of storm clouds thundering down, again
Might cause this child's mind to lose control over
False sense of safety, again ...
Sooo ... each time life proves too complex to fathom
This child's defense system creates a state of sunny simplicity
Suggesting that with a shrug of one's shoulder
Dark clouds, casting shadows of self doubt, are gone and
Lightening storms, crackling with doom, gloom and inner conflict
Are dismissed ... and once ensconced in Denialand
This defense mechanism will serve a dark haired, blue eyed child well until
She grows up to find the perfect storm arising...
Tearing straight through her spirit's eternal lightness of being
At which time ...
My blindness to that which I'd needed to know about myself ...
Could not deny subconscious truth, boiling over defensive walls
Arousing an inactive volcano to erupt with such lava-like angst
That my mind saw the wisdom of seeking the path of self discovery, at last ...
Twinkle, twinkle clear-eyed mind
Posting daily, hoping that you, too, may choose
To open your eyes and ears to insight into deeper truths
Hiding behind defensive walls
So that your spirit may begin to live larger rather than smaller
As no child escapes from childhood utterly unscathed
Common sense suggests that some threatening presence
Will haunt your sense of inner peace until
Truth speaks through your walls as it slips through mine:
Bottom line: That which you choose not to know can hurt you
Every bit as much as sticks and stones breaks your bones
On the other hand, as more of us choose to work mindfully toward
Mustering the courage to be true to one's deepest self
We'll come to understand the importance of
Considering the needs of of everyone we love ...
Including our own :)
Bottom line: Each time my conscious mind thinks to buddy up with my subconscious, a new found sense of mindful wholeness frees me to express my needs in wholesome ways that enrich my sense of inner peace. As inner peace increases in direct proportion to my newfound sense of wholeness, I feel inspired to hunt down scary secrets that I lock fearfully away from my conscious self. Since secrets arouse curiosity and life overflows with mysterious goings on, my spirit feels eager to see where each next train of thought takes the story of my life, next ...
P.S. For the life of me, I could not figure out why so many paragraphs in this post refused to indent! On the other hand, life offers us such taxing puzzles to figure out, I chose to stop worrying my mind with small stuff, like this. And guess what happened, next? That positive mind shift lessened my frustration, immediately—and as soon as my mind felt unstressed, intelligence kicked in. So instead of indenting, I simply chose to space each paragraph that refused to cooperate apart from the last. This suggests that conscious mind shifts catalyze two positive changes: First, we enhance our ability to accept that which we do not yet understand. Secondly, creativity pops up, suggesting we alter a path that offered nothing other than more frustration. And if, sometime later, the mind fathoms questions left unanswered then more power to those who work at deepening awareness, one patient step at a time.
Once I became aware of Mother Nature empowering me with the gift of choosing to shift my mind sets, my sixth sense kicked in, and I stopped feeling like a caged gerbil running on a wheel. Today, when an experience confuses my sense of direction, I choose to dive deeper into my mind until my sixth sense feels a need to question one of my mind sets.
While reading my posts, you play witness to trains of thought questioning mind sets until my trust in my sixth sense settles upon examining a mind shift in need of changing with the times. Example? During the sixties, I'd not dared to have lived with a man I'd loved before marriage. Today, common sense suggests the wisdom of taste tests before vowing to accept unchanging baggage for an entire lifetime.
With each step I take on this path, where diving more deeply into memory frees me from misperceptions that limited my choices, I listen closely when my sixth sense cajoles me to expand my sense of adventure by taking another courageous leap of faith ... and since I've not yet taken another person to an unhealthy place, I continue to believe that self examination has been elemental in determining the successful path of my life—thus far. And that thought brings to mind the end of a nursery rhyme, enjoyed by the instinctive mind of a dark haired, blue eyed, three year old child who grew into a woman, whose independent mind smiles at this thought ... twinkle, twinkle—lucky star ... seeking insight into deeper truth in hopes that lucky duck enjoys sunny days where peace of mind conjoin with itch free nights of restful sleep :)
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