commitment

Salted Caramel Filled Chocolates – Day Ninety

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Salted Caramel Filled Chocolates…           

are the only thing keeping me awake at the moment.

I’ve always stayed up late. (Yeah, a night owl. Go figure.) But pretty much since I started my 1111 Devotion, I’ve been staying up even later than I used to, and on a much more consistent basis. And by later I mean for the past 90 days I’ve not gone to bed before 12:30 a.m. at the earliest and 2:15 a.m. at the latest. On average, hitting the sheets by around 1:30 a.m.

For the most part, it works out. I’ve always done my best work at night. Since my college days, the dark hours when most other people are asleep were when I accomplished the most. So this isn’t a shockingly new development. The toll taker is the consistency.

And this week has been a particularly challenging stretch. Earlier in the week, I had to get up at 4:15 a.m. to take Karl to the airport. So my Wednesday was a little ragged around the edges, if I do say so myself.

Then last night I didn’t get to bed until 2:00-ish, in spite of how tired I was, and then got back up at 5:15 to make the pilgrimage back to Newark in order to collect Karl off the red-eye.

Sleep Deprivation Can Be a Bitch

Maybe it was that I only got three hours of sleep two out of the last four days. (Yeah, that might be it.) Maybe I just don’t have the EverReady Bunny mojo I used to have? Yeah, that could be it; I don’t know. One thing I do know: I’ve been borderline zombie today.

So here I am, listening to Karl’s rhythmic breathing/pseudo-snoring as he slumbers on the couch. I close my eyes to pull words from the ethers and find myself nodding off in what feel like micro-naps. I catch myself when my head bobs and I realize I’ve lost my train of thought.

Enter Chocolove filled Salted Caramel dark chocolate. Someone must have been watching over me when I went to Whole Foods on Thursday and discovered these bars of chocolate-y pillows of delight were on sale.

Probably the only reason I’ve managed to write this much is because I indulged.

A Shift in Perspective

Believe it or not, I started this post out expressing disappointment and annoyance with myself for eating chocolate so late in the evening. But I’ve deleted that garbage because I suddenly realize how lucky I am. So what if I’m overtired and need a little “chocolove” to help me follow through on my commitment? To add fuel to my Act of Power? To sustain my dedication?

I’m lucky because my husband is asleep on the couch. My sons are warm and cozy living their lives with their loves. I’m surrounded by my two dogs and three cats (even if they crowd me into a corner of our bed). I’m healthy and my senses are eager and able to indulge in the exquisite delight of a dark chocolate morsel filled with gooey salted caramel.

I have the extraordinary and magical good fortune of working with people and Spirit in the way I do. And how rich am I to hit the ‘publish’ button every night only to wake up to see that you have cared enough to walk another day with me on this journey?

So no. I’m not going to hold on to the sadness that swept across my brow last night. And I’m not going to lament the fact that I gave myself permission to eat some chocolate tonight. That’s just such an old, bullshit way of thinking.

I’m going to be grateful for the salted caramel filled dark chocolates with sweet little hearts embossed on top. I’m going to feel the love that permeates my life.

And I’m going to send it back out into the world: to you.

(T-1021)

Remedial Instagram – Day Eighty One

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Photo by L. Weikel

Remedial Instagram

Good grief, I’m starting to wonder about myself.

I’ll come clean with all of you, since we’re all about intimacy, right? I feel intimate with you, anyway. I know there are a number of you who are keeping me company and making sure I do indeed keep my commitment to Karl’s memory. (I can’t thank you often or sincerely enough for that camaraderie, by the way. And my most heartfelt means of expressing that gratitude is to be radically honest with you. Intimate, in other words. Letting you see and hear my inner me, warts and all.)

My confession is this: I was honestly excited last night when I wrote about getting myself much further along in Instagram World than I’d ever managed before. I knew I’d successfully posted (what, a post? Do you post a post on Instagram? God, how can I do it if I don’t even know what to call it?); anyway, I knew I’d successfully put something on my IG ‘feed’ yesterday afternoon because people had reacted to it by later in the evening.

Even better, I thought, I’d figured out how to get links inside my post to actually get opened without some rigamarole that I didn’t even understand. It sounded like a good thing to do and I thought I’d figured it out. The app I was using to accomplish this task is called Link In Profile. Technically, I’m still using it, I guess, as of tonight anyway. Luckily, they give you a month’s free trial first.

It seems pretty neat. At least, yesterday afternoon, as I said, I managed to post my initial Instagram and, in it, include a link to my Devotion blog post, which explains the inception of the whole 1111 Devotion commitment I made in November. And I thought it meant that people could click on the link inside the post and go directly to the webpage it referenced, instead of people having to go to my Instagram bio to click on it.

Yeah, this is making my eyes glaze over, too.

But I think it did the job. I don’t actually know enough yet to even be able to tell.

First Opportunity to Show My Stuff: Brain Fart

Problem is? By the time I published my blog post late last night and shared it on FB in the couple or three places I usually do, I totally forgot how to actually, literally, POST on Instagram! Yeah, I’m saying I forgot how to do the single most basic function on (and the whole point of) the entire stupid platform.

So I’m sitting on my couch last night, eager to put my blog post ‘out there’ on Instagram, too – especially since I’d just written about it to all of you! – and I’m clicking on every damn icon I can see on the Instagram app on my phone. None of them take me where I want to go or let me do what I want to do. Mostly I’m just reminded that I need to complete my stupid bio.

Oh my Goddess. I wanted to scream.

And then, once I accidentally discovered the ‘entry’ screen (and I still don’t know what I tapped to get there), I couldn’t even figure out if it would somehow access the photo that I’d included in the blog and publish that as the ‘accompanying’ photo (like FB does)  – or if I had to publish a photo independently, from my phone’s photo archive, and then include the link to my blog post in the comment area.

My head was swimming by this time.

Hence the random photo of our Boston Terrier, Sheila, pretending to be Princess Leia (even though she actually bears a much more uncanny resemblance to Yoda).

Moving Forward, Figuring It Out

The bottom line, therefore, is that I’m still figuring this out. I know some of you are clearly adept at IG and others of you, while you may be trying to make me feel good (and it worked, thanks) by telling me so, admitted to being in the same boat as I am. You know who you are: the ‘I have a name on Instagram too, but haven’t used it yet’ gang.

My pledge to you: I will be your guinea owl! We can figure this out – together. And I will report back on how much fun and success I’m having as an Instagrammer.

In the meantime, here’s both a photo of a rock formation on the Siberian steppe south of Lake Baikal (above). And another photo of Sheila, her son Spartacus, and Cletus. Our Black and White Triumvirate enjoying a bit of warmth and respite in front of the hearth fire .

Because Instagram.

(T-1030)

Cleo Sharplin – Day Sixty Nine

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Cleo’s Heart Photo by L. Weikel

Cleo Sharplin

One amazing result of writing my 1111 Devotion was the email I received yesterday from a friend of Cleo and Barry Sharplin. You may recall that I wrote about the Sharplins a few days before Christmas, encouraging a visit to Alchemy, their wonderfully unique clothing shop in Frenchtown, NJ.

Sadly, I must report that Cleo’s suffering ended this past Tuesday, January 15, 2019.

A Most Surprising Messenger

Last evening I received an email from the mother of an art student of Barry’s. She had apparently stumbled upon my blog and read my post from Day 39. In an act of uncommon kindness, she reached out to let me know of Cleo’s passing. Marlene’s words were so loving as she described moments she’d sat chatting with Cleo, listening to stories of Cleo’s adventures.

I am in awe that this blog put us in touch with each other. What a totally unexpected gift I received for the simple act of remaining disciplined to my commitment in honor of my Karl Daniel.

I paid a visit to Alchemy today to spend a few minutes with Barry and to let him know how sorry I am for the loss of his Cleo, his best friend. I know my words, however well-intentioned, were of hollow comfort. No words can set his upended world right.

A Heart to Hold

Before I went into the shop, I sat outside in my car, gray clouds gathering overhead and snow just starting to spit from those clouds ever so slightly. I’d wanted to bring something to Barry, some token to honor my memory of Cleo and acknowledge the rending of his life as he’d known it. Having an intimacy with stones by virtue of what I ‘do’ in my life, my best idea was, of course, the comfort of a gift from Mother Earth.

I’d found a heart of rhodonite that reminded me of Cleo, and as I sat outside Alchemy, I blew my intentions of love, comfort, and peace for Barry into that stone. On some level, I wanted to give him something tangible to hold onto as he winds his way on a new path that he did not expect to be traveling so suddenly.

As I was sitting there, whispering my final intentions into the stone, I watched him come out of the store. Taking a seat wearily on the wooden bench just outside the shop’s entrance, he lit up a cigarette and took a deep, long drag. As he sat there, I watched as he took in the empty front windows and the sign announcing “60% off.” I could only imagine his thoughts. How his entire life had upended in sixty days. Their store, so vibrant and lively for these many years, suddenly sapped of its lifeblood, a virtual shell.

It’s stunning how everything can change in an instant.

The Connections We Make

In that moment, I got out of my car, walked over, and sat next to him on the bench. Looking up, he recognized me, at least on some level, and moved over just a scootch. All I had to do was look in his eyes. I asked if I could give him a hug. (That seems to have been the only consistent offering I could make these past weeks, as I witnessed this unfold from afar.)

I explained how I’d received the email from his student’s mom, and how grateful I was that she’d reached out to let me know. I’d felt really sad earlier in the week, and had blamed it on circumstances in my own life. I didn’t tell him that, of course; but I did reveal how in those moments of self-pity, a clear and unmistakable sense of Barry’s loss (impending, I’d assumed) had intervened. Yes, Cleo and Barry had been front and center in my mind and weighing on my heart.

Barry, listening and staring straight ahead at the shell Alchemy has become, took a long drag on his cigarette. Turning his ruddy face toward me, he smiled and looked me directly in the eyes. “You know,” he said, “she left at 9:11.”

Wow. No. I did not know that.

I don’t know if that felt significant to him because of the connection to ‘the’ infamous 9/11, or if on some level, he knew about my connection to 11s, but there it was. That doorway created by the double ones. A portal. And now another shared connection to a loved one taking their leave from this world into the next.

___________________________________

Alchemy Clothing – 17 Bridge Street – Frenchtown, NJ – 08825

Barry will be keeping Alchemy open until next Sunday, January 27th. Sadly (but good for you), I was surprised by the number of great pieces still available as of today.

So if you want to help both yourself and the Sharplins out – pay a visit. The discount is steep. And best of all, you get one last chance to have some Cleo eclecticism in your closet. Even if you didn’t know her, trust me. She had an eye for beauty, color, and style that will be sorely missed.

(T-1042)

Commitment – Day Fifty

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Commitment

OK, I’ll admit it. I’m pretty much phoning this one in.

I’m nursing a slight headache, I was a little brought down by yet another day full of low hanging clouds and relentless rain, and this is my fiftieth consecutive post!

Actually, that last part makes me smile.

I’m glad I’m sitting up here on my bed, with but minutes to spare before the ball drops and 2019 begins, and I’m writing this.

I find it fascinating that I feel so connected to you; and I do feel that there is a ‘you’ at the other end of this post. There are eyes reading these words. And I’m intrigued by this relationship I feel we’re cultivating.

If I didn’t feel something, I wouldn’t be sitting up here all by myself, writing this. But I’m not all by myself, am I?

Thank you for supporting me energetically and otherwise over the past fifty days.

I’d like to invite each one of you to join me in some form of devotion to yourself in 2019. Maybe contemplate not giving something up as you enter this new year, but rather bringing something in, instead.

Turning off the television and reading for an hour before bed every night.

Keeping a journal and writing at least one page (and preferably three – wink wink), every day.

Drawing or taking a photograph with your phone every single day to document your joy.

Realizing you are loved. And appreciated. Even if it is ‘only’ by yourself.

Thank you for walking beside me. I look forward to 2019 – together.

(T-1061)

Theraflu Fix – Day Forty Five

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Theraflu Fix

Regrettably, tonight is a Theraflu night. I’m staving off something; not sure if it’s a cold or a sinus infection or just a culmination of Christmas being yesterday and today being the 360thday of the year and the realization that there are only five days left in 2018. No matter what it is, Theraflu will probably fix it. That and perhaps getting to bed before 1:30 or 2:00 a.m.

I’ve always tended toward being a night person. I think it’s been true since I was little, actually, but it’s definitely been the story of my adult life.

During law school, night was when I would get most of my reading, studying, and writing accomplished. And since I gave birth to son Karl while I was in law school, that pattern pretty much set itself in stone, since he (and the next two, as well) were always great sleepers. Therefore, once all my guys were asleep (and yeah, Karl’s a morning person – big surprise), I was surrounded by my coveted silence. Yep. My evening silence.

Nevertheless, I have to admit that over the past decade or so I’ve only been staying up past midnight sporadically. Midnight literally became my witching hour.

But now I’m dedicated to my 1111 Devotion. My practice. My commitment. And in spite of my best intentions, in spite of my earnest desire to not always be pushing my nose up against a deadline, ‘crushing it at the last minute’ is apparently my default setting. And so, I hit ‘publish’ every night, right around 11:59 or thereabouts. It doesn’t matter when I start writing for the evening, either.

Decisions and the Adrenalin Rush

Because the drive to submit each post by midnight is so intense in those last forty five minutes or so, every single night I’m left with both a sense of accomplishment and a boatload of adrenalin pumping through my veins at 12:01 a.m. or so. And that means I’ve not been getting to bed until 1:30 – 2:00 a.m., consistently, since engaging in this devotional practice. Some days I’ve been able to snag a little extra time snooze time in the morning, but not always. Certainly not enough to make up for this new regime.

So it appears as though I have a decision to make, and the week between Christmas and New Year’s seems to be as appropriate a time as any to ponder my options. How do I make this new relationship sustainable? How do I keep from wearing myself out and sabotaging my practice?

I’ll keep you posted. (Ha. That pun was not intended.)

In the meantime, I’m taking a Theraflu tonight, and as soon as I hit ‘publish,’ I’m going to bed.

Thanks for sticking with me as I figure this out.

(T-1066)

I AM Winter Solstice Symposium – Day Thirty Two

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I AM Winter Solstice Symposium

During the Mid Winter Wind, I will be participating in the IAM Winter Solstice Symposium with host, Renee Baribeau, author of the recently published Winds of Spirit. The event will begin on December 20th with an opening Fire Ceremony, followed by interviews with 17 Women Wisdom Keepers – plus yours truly. The theme this year is “Rituals for Navigating Turbulent Winds while Aligning to your Winter Cycle.” Find support and nourishment as we navigate the holiday season and ring in a New Year together.

Call for Fire Tenders

We are looking for Volunteers for this event! Specifically FIRE TENDERS who will keep a flame burning during the I AM Winter Solstice online celebration from December 20th to January 1st.

During the Event: Light a Candle or Fire, Visualize a Purple Flame, or keep a Light Burning for the Event from 12/20 through 1/1. You can say a daily prayer in lieu of a flame on the days you are traveling.  Do what works best for you.

I know that some of you participated as Firekeepers last year, and personally shared how much you enjoyed the sense of community you experienced by maintaining that personal focus and – dare I say it, devotion to the Winter Solstice spirit.

This is your opportunity to embrace and support 18 fellow Wisdom Keepers in your own unique and personal fashion.

Opening Fire Ceremony

THE OPENING FIRE CEREMONY WILL BE ON 12/20  Join us here.See Complete Line-Up Here

Join the Wind Clan on FB

The only other requirement to becoming a FIRE TENDER, other than maintaining the flame of your choosing, is that you join the Wind Clan if you are not already a member and opt-in here to receive all the interview recordings for FREE.

If you have any questions, please reach out to renee@thepracticalshaman.com.

(T-1079)

Bad Habits – Day Twenty Nine

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 Bad Habits

In yesterday’s post I wrote that I was chagrined to discover that my practice of journal writing has clearly suffered as I have worked to fulfill my daily commitment in the form of the 1111 Devotion. I’d recently realized that I’d allowed an entire 14 days to go by without writing in my journal, which is a serious breach, in my book. And it isn’t that I’m blindly demanding daily journaling in addition to my commitment here; but I am saying that this act of neglect is one of several bad habits I indulge in – and not something I want to encourage within myself.

My reasoning, as I said yesterday, is two-fold, with the first being the simple fact that maintaining a journal has been a huge and essential part of my life for the vast majority of it. Journaling keeps my head on straight. It helps me see things differently than when thoughts and feelings are simply chasing each other around in my head, and it clarifies my emotions. This is true in spite of the fact that my discipline was nearly derailed when I realized I might not always be able to assume my privacy was assured. That’s how important journaling is to me.

My second reason for not condoning the sacrifice of my journaling is because it would defeat the purpose of my 1111 Devotion. It would strip it of its essence as an Act of Power. How is it rightfully a devotional practice to simply substitute one form of writing for another? What about that would be meaningful?

Not much.

Games My Mind Plays

It’s fascinating to see the little games my mind plays. The compromises I engage in – and to what end? Depriving myself of doing that which I love the most? Atta girl, Lisa. You’ll show them! (Who? Myself?)

It’s just dumb. And akin to that whole indulgence stream of thought I wrote about a few days ago.

I guess I’m realizing just how much this happens. How often I procrastinate on or outright refuse to engage in behavior that will only serve to make me happy or improve my life experience.

As I sit here contemplating just how much this behavior permeates my life, I’m disturbed by such a propensity. Not only do I seem to go on a guilt trip when I ‘indulge’ in turning off the tv and reveling in silence, but I also apparently sabotage my efforts to do what I love and live my life in beauty and ease and comfort.

Time to knock this shit off, I say.

(T-1082)

Neglected Journal-keeping – Day Twenty Eight

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Journal-keeping

I have to admit it; I’m a teensy bit stoked that I’ve made it a full lunar month of consistently writing Ruffled Feathers entries.

There has been some fallout in other areas, however, which I’m going to need to rectify, such as my regular journal-keeping. Yeah, my spiral notebook is feeling neglected. I noticed about a week ago that I’d permitted a terrible lapse in entries. A full fourteen days, if I’m not mistaken, which for me is nearly unforgivable.

Do I Have to Choose?

The only reason I didn’t lapse into a round of merciless self-flagellation was because I knew that, on some level, I’d made a choice. And for now at least, if I honestly felt I needed to make a choice, then opting for my 1111 Devotion was the way to go.

Yet as soon as I realized that I was sacrificing one form of writing for another, I knew that could not stand. Keeping a journal has been my way of snatching sanity from the undertow of overwhelm and sadness all my life. Keeping a journal has been integral to maintaining my marriage. Keeping a journal has led me to personal insights that I’m confident I never would have made otherwise, and therefore keeping a journal has been integral to creating the person I am today.

So no, sacrificing my journal writing to fulfill my commitment – my devotion – to honoring Karl’s life is not a practice I will permit. I’m not saying that I must write in my journal every day. But I am saying that a two week lapse is not part of the plan.

My reasoning is two-fold. First, I have kept some form of a journal in earnest since I was in 7thor 8thgrade. I cannot say that I’ve seen those earliest confessionals since becoming an adult, but I do recall writing out my feelings back when I was in 8thgrade, and perhaps even younger.

A Breach of Trust

And sadly, round about the age of 16 or so, I also recall discovering that my mother had done the unthinkable and read something I’d written without asking. (I’m thinking this may be why I haven’t discovered those early attempts at keeping a ‘diary.’ Although I do not remember reacting in an incendiary manner to her breach – by literally lighting them on fire or even being tempted to chuck them – I do find it odd that I can’t put my hands on them. And my visceral reaction to even the thought of burning or otherwise disposing of a journal leads me to believe I would never have taken such a drastic step.)

That’s not to say that I wasn’t incensed with my mother’s breach. Oh my. I was. But I also know we hashed it out. Honestly, tearfully, and not just a little angrily. Which is why I feel slightly bad about dredging this up now, because I know I forgave her. But forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. And I’m not dredging this up to make her feel bad (since she’s been gone from this realm since 1991), but rather to explain that the deepest source of my outrage at her betrayal was because she’d had my trust. I told her almost everything (much to her chagrin many times). And I didn’t lie. But that’s not to say I told her every single lustful little thought that entered my mind as an adolescent (ew). And those thoughts were precisely the types of things she discovered when she read my ‘diary’ that I took absolute umbrage over her violating my privacy.

I’ve spent much longer on that fracas with my mother than I intended. And yet I’m not quite finished.

It feels important to express why I continued keeping journals even after my mother’s breach. Indeed, they became more and more of a lifeline for me when I turned 17 and became an exchange student in Sweden.

And that’s because I forgave her. And I forgave her because we listened to each other.

Forgiveness – Healing for Both the Forgiver and the Forgiven

I remember having it out together in my parents’ bedroom, when I confronted her after she asked me a question that I immediately saw she already knew the answer to. I was, as I’ve said, incensed. She’d been worried. Or something. I can’t even remember, other than to recall that she admitted that she was wrong to have read it. She admitted that she knew she was wrong because we did have such a close bond, and I did tell her so much about my life. I could see it written all over her face that she sincerely regretted it. And on some level, I understood that she’d almost been offered too tempting a target. “Did she really know me?” “Could she really trust me?” All she needed to do was read what I wrote…

Things were way different culturally when I was 16 than when my sisters and brother were 16, my closest sister in age being 9 years older and the eldest being 19 years older than me. So, yeah. I understood that she wasn’t sure if she knew me. And she understood my outrage.

After our (heated) discussion, I trusted she’d never do that to me again. And I know that trust was well-placed.

I’ll get to my second point tomorrow.

I promise.

(T-1083)

Trusting the Leap – Day Nineteen

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Trusting the Leap

I’m having a hard time coming up with something to write about tonight. Nothing is jumping out at me; I had a long day, I’m tired, and I didn’t experience any major “Ahas!” regarding this morning’s ‘pick.’

Technically, my full pick this morning was Black Panther/Beaver. Although I always love when I choose Black Panther – since its title attribute in the Medicine Cards© is “Embracing the Unknown,” I always enter my day when I choose it with a sense of anticipation and a bit of mystery – I can’t say as though I noticed it applying to the way my day unfolded.

Beaver’s title attribute is “Builder,” and my usual default sense of Beaver when it’s underneath is that it somehow has something to do with working with others, or ‘teamwork.’

Applying My Cards to My Dilemma

And now I will admit to something:

It is only now as I am writing this post that I am sensing the application of my card pick.

My receipt of Black Panther was the cards telling me that I needed to “leap empty-handed into the void with implicit trust” in writing tonight’s post. I just had to dive in. And as soon as I wrote that first sentence, I felt like I might be onto something. Just admitting that I had no subject was a subject!

That’s when I thought to consider what I’d chosen on my day – at least it might give me a jumping off point.  So, while it may have been more accurately described as an empty-headed leap into the void with implicit trust, here I am, embracing my Black Panther.

And the Beaver underneath? Well, that sort of just falls into place for me now and underscores that Black Panther is appearing in reference to my 1111 Devotion . Beaver’s placement underneath is you. Why? Because we are a team. We are a community. By taking the time and according me the honor of choosing to spend a few precious minutes with me each day (or whenever you can), you are respecting my Act of Power. You are respecting my dedication to this crazy devotional practice. And honestly? Knowing that you (and yes, your single self is absolutely precious to me) are going to read this has spurred me on to put one sentence after another and follow through.

Sometimes They Make Sense Only Later

It’s also another way for me to show how the Medicine Cards©work for me. They do not always make sense to me as I read them at the outset of my day. Some days I honestly have no clue as to how my pick will apply. Some days I can honestly say I never figure it out.

But then there are days like today, when the meaning or application has not had an opportunity to manifest until the sun has long since set and I am starting to grow sleepy.

The cool thing (for me), though, is that I still feel the magic. I’m delighted that my choice of cards this morning taught me something this evening. They came to my aid by informing me that sometimes we just have to leap into the void, even if we are empty-handed (or empty-headed), with implicit trust – in order to keep building on our commitment to the ‘team.’

So again – thank you for being there for me.

recinet.ca

(T-1092)

Perspective – Day Seventeen (T-1094)

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Perspective

I imagine it’s not easy being married to me. (When Karl reads this tomorrow morning, he’ll probably choke on his coffee.)

Instead of making you guess what I’m talking about, I will cut straight to it.

Every day, over our morning coffee and card picks, I have added a new facet to our morning: I ask him to weigh in on my blog. Poor guy. Every damn day. (Actually, that’s not true. It was true for maybe the first week; but since then, he has come to realize that he, too, is ‘in this for the long haul,’ and thus is going to need to provide me with some feedback every day. So now he tends to volunteer it.)

He has surprised me on a few – liking a couple that I thought were sort of lame, mostly. And yesterday’s post was not stellar. I knew it when I wrote it. But I thought it might have earned points for being written in a slightly different style – with more dialogue, specifically.

— Just tryin’ to change things up, folks! —

But he kind of grimaced after letting me know he’d read the post and I knew his expression spoke the truth.

Looking for Honesty – Gentle, but True

And believe me, as much as I want him to love every pearl that flows from my fingertips, more than any kudos he could possibly heap upon me I want him to be honest. Gently honest, perhaps; but absolutely, unequivocally, truthful. I do not ever want to think or feel the slightest suspicion that he is blowing smoke in my direction and telling me what I want to hear as opposed to what he really thinks.

So I took his grimace in stride, and we agreed that I’d known going into this devotional practice that some days I would struggle to have anything to say. Indeed, as I’m pretty sure I’ve said before – I cannot allow myself to fully contemplate how many days I’ve committed to saying something – ha ha, even though it’s right up there in the heading each and every day.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I had an email conversation about half an hour later with a dear friend in which she specifically pointed out what she’d enjoyed about the post! The little things that had made her smile, including the fact that my missive was an appreciation of the technician who’d come out to fix my laptop – a welcome deviation from the usual tendency to bitch-post about service in our society.

It’s Not for Me to Judge

Janet’s email to me was a timely and very welcome reminder about perspective.  It is easy to get caught up in musing about topics we consider deep, important, profound, or moving. It’s easy to feel like those are the things we ‘should’ be thinking or caring about on a regular basis. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time, right?

Maybe not.

The last thing I want anyone reading my 1111 Devotion posts to feel is that they’re a waste of time. But I’m hearing (if I listen to the message I feel Karl and Janet were both giving me today) that it’s not for me to judge.

Looking into the future, I know that, really and truly, if I am going to write a post every single day for the next 1094 days, I am going to be called upon to trust my muse. Be it Spirit, my allies, my intuition, whatever… I will need to trust that whatever flows through my fingertips is meant for someone, even if it’s ‘only’ me. Even if it’s just the satisfaction of fulfilling my commitment.

But deep down, I hope there will be at least one other person ‘out there’ whose perspective will allow them to feel a kinship with me that day. Who will smile, or think about something a little differently, because we had a chance to connect.

Thank you for joining me!