walking my talk

Confession – Day 932

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Snail? Slug – Photo: L. Weikel

Confession

“Confession is good for the soul,” they say. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know I’m not big on blowing smoke up people’s behinds, especially when it comes to my own actions. So I’m determined to make sure the record, such as it is, is right.

I wrote yesterday about fulfilling the task before me, which at least in that instance was about cleaning out and getting rid of filing cabinets’ worth of piles, records, and paperwork.

I mentioned that it was hard work. And I admitted that a lot of time had gone by since I last attempted to clear this stuff out. But this time – this time – I was ready to tackle it.

Well, I bailed. I know I need to do it, and I really thought for sure I was going to accomplish my mission today, but I didn’t.

I was lulled into a delicious sense of gratitude for the day when I sat outside just after noon and felt the warmth of the sun on my face. My bones were initially still chilled from the rawness of the past two days until I went outside to fill the birdfeeders and took a peek at the blue sky trying to return to prominence.

Not Up For It

As much as I was psyched to accomplish my goal yesterday I was not-so-psyched to do it today. I took one look at the files pertaining to an accident Karl had that by all rights probably should’ve killed him in 2008 (but only broke a couple of bones) and I felt my resolve stall. I particularly bristled at the memory of the disgusting doctor at a local rehabilitation hospital who prescribed Oxycontin to him over my objections. I literally had to get in her face to get her to back down on the seemingly cavalier – if not deliberate – over-medication of my son.

But I digress. Or maybe I don’t.

Do I just destroy these records? Why would I want to keep them? What purpose would that serve? Who would ever be interested in them and why?

My eyes moved half an inch to rest upon the information documenting his acceptance to New York University and all of the drama associated with that. (Literally – as he ended up auditioning and being accepted into the Tisch School of the Arts as a Drama major.) Such seemingly pivotal choices and decisions, all documented in black and white. So much excitement. So much promise.

Snail’s Pace

Nope.

I didn’t have it in me today. While I’m sure no one will care about any of these things in the future, I didn’t have it in me to send them through the shredder today.

Maybe tomorrow.

I know it’s stuff I don’t need to hang on to. I know I need to walk my talk and let go of the past.

But today my resolve to move forward slowed to the pace of the snail (or was it a slug?) I encountered as I took a walk later in the day.

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-179)

Whale Comes Calling – Day 134

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Photo: www.pacificwhale.org

Whale Comes Calling

Man, I have just been having a time of it lately.

I think I’ve mentioned at least a couple of times lately that over the past two weeks or so, I’ve received some truly astonishing messages. And I’ve wanted to share them with you – but not until I’ve given myself an opportunity to reflect on them on my own.

I even vowed to devote some alone time over this past weekend to my desire to take a deep dive into the specifics of some of the more blatant pantomimes by the Universe, as well as some of the startling actual verbal messages I received. They all fit together more perfectly than anything I could have arranged or orchestrated for myself on my own.

Well, so much for that. As happens now and again, I’ve neglected my self and – worse – neglected my creative inspiration and joy. I’ve also perpetrated the greatest of sins: I’ve failed to walk my talk.

Alas, I’ve Been Talking the Talk

Yes, I’ve written about this before, the occasional lapse in journal entries.

I am relentless with my clients and loved ones, reminding them often to keep a journal, extolling the virtues of capturing the details of our daily lives on paper (or yes, I’ll settle for electronic writing at this point). So I get particularly irritated with myself when I allow days to go by without writing down my most exquisite experiences.

It’s one thing to miss a few days when we occasionally hit a patch of life that feels like we’re on the set of Groundhog Day. You know: those days that feel like they’re just repeats of every other day and don’t deserve any attention.

But I have to tell you: Spirit has been working overtime with me lately, so that cannot be my excuse! And I am beyond grateful for, well, all of it, especially when the messages or connections have come completely unexpectedly. Which makes it all the more important for me to honor what I’ve received by writing it down.

So, yeah. Sometimes it takes time to write this stuff down. Not in the sense of (looking at my non-existent wristwatch) giving myself half an hour in the middle of the day to write down the facts. No. That simply does not work.

Finding My Groove Takes Time

Hard as it is to describe, I need to settle into the groove of writing, especially when I want to touch the numinous. And that requires allowing myself to reconnect with the moments deeply enough to tap into the details as if I am writing the experience in the moment of living it.

It’s the same as when I’m writing chapters in my books. In order to get myself back to those places and the felt experience of living those moments, I need to afford myself time.

And time is what I’ve been giving everyone else lately. Not that I begrudge it; I don’t. But yikes…the very fact that I’m in this position writing about this (yet again) is because I’ve not heeded the messages. Ugh. Busted. Again.

Whale/Elk

So along comes Monday (today). I actually became distracted by needing to speak to someone on the phone and never got around to picking my Medicine Card for the day. Karl picked and I read his; but my pick got lost in the shuffle, so to speak.

When we both realized my lapse this evening as we tried to recall what I’d picked as we walked, I headed straight to the deck when we got home. I picked Whale with Elk underneath.

Suffice it to say, it didn’t take a sledgehammer to make me realize that Spirit was growing impatient with my dalliance. Whale in the Medicine Cards®is the Record Keeper. And Elk, of course, is Stamina, the one who continues onward, “having no other defense except his ability to go the distance, setting a pace that allow(s) him to utilize his stamina and energy to the fullest.”

“Elk medicine teaches that pacing yourself will increase your stamina.”

I’m getting a strong feeling that tomorrow circumstances will coalesce that will allow me to do just exactly what I need: Be the Record Keeper and pace myself. These connections and messages from Spirit and my son have been too precious not to accord them honor and appreciation.

I can only hope that by exposing my own lapses, each of you will forgive your own – and just pick up your pens or your keyboards tomorrow and join me tomorrow. Let’s excavate the magic together!

Elk in Oregon; Photo: L.Weikel

(T-977)

Electricity Restored, Awareness Heightened – Day 113

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 2 Comments
Aftermath: Still Ominous – Photo: L.Weikel

Electricity Restored and Awareness Heightened

I’m delighted to report that our electricity was restored at approximately 4:30 this afternoon.

The last time we lost our electricity for any significant amount of time was in 2012, after Hurricane Sandy, when it was out for something like ten days or so. What an awful, deeply uncomfortable ordeal. A tiny, insignificant taste, I realize, of what so many others have endured following tornadoes, wildfires, and hurricanes. But enough of a taste to leave a stark impression.

But during that profoundly uncomfortable and very chilly time, we had guests. Our dear friends, Karen Ward and John Cantwell, founders of Sli an Chroi (Path of the Heart) from Dublin, Ireland, were visiting us and presenting a wonderful retreat on Celtic shamanism and spirituality.

Asking Our Guests to Rough It

Karen and John were troopers throughout that experience in 2012. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, for them to ‘make do’ in our home without heat, lights, or running water. Nor did we yet have our fireplace installed (that came a mere two months later – lesson learned!), so we would sit briefly each night, swapping stories over candlelight before retiring to our respective bedrooms and the comfort of cuddling under piles of comforters!

Friends Come Through In a Big and Generous Way

At first we weren’t even sure if we would be able to follow through with offering the program, for we knew no one personally or commercially who had space that was not impacted by the electricity situation. Finally, one of my closest friends in the world offered to host our retreat in her living room – by the light and warmth of her gas fireplace. Janet and her daughters generously opened their doors and quite literally saved the day for all of us!

What a wonderful retreat it ended up being, too. Filled with magic and playfulness, wisdom and ancient insights, we spent the weekend reconnecting with our ancestors (Irish or not, it didn’t matter) in profound and meaningful ways.

Photo: L.Weikel

There are many aspects of our work together that weekend that I could write about here. And there’s a strong chance, too, that I’ll harvest ideas from those myriad experiences as we wend our way through the next 998 posts in my 1111 Devotion. But the one thing I want to focus upon this evening is yet another example of the power of words.

Naturally, a major focus of many of our conversations (of pretty much everyone, everywhere you went in our community) that long weekend centered upon the status of our electricity. It was not uncommon, if one were to simply grow quiet for a moment, to hear several conversations being carried on at once, each one of which was peppered with the phrases, ”We’ve lost our power;” “I have no power;” “How long will we have to be without power?” “When did you lose your power?” – and innumerable variations on that theme.

We’ve Lost our POWER?

It was our Irish visitors who called our attention to our flagrant disregard for the power of our words. In fact, they didn’t know what Karl and I were talking about when we picked them up at the airport and started babbling about our ‘lost power.’ That’s simply not the way a disruption in electrical service is described in Ireland. Ever. As a result, they were acutely aware of the precise words we were using to describe our situation, for they sounded so odd and curiously out of place.

And they noticed it even more when we gathered at Janet’s home for the retreat. They were astonished by how all these Americans were going on and on about having lost their power. They were appalled at our lack of precision with our vocabulary, and rightly called us out on it.

Precision is Important

Thus, since October of 2012, I know I, and my entire family, have been careful to exercise precision in our language when a situation such as last night’s occurs.

To be clear? Our electricity cut out last night. We did not ‘lose our power.’

Has paying attention to how we describe this situation made a tangible difference in our lives? Who’s to say? One thing I do know, however, is that this was and is a case of walking my talk.

I know the power of words. I have seen how the way we phrase our description of situations can have a remarkable impact upon our perception of experiences. And I have seen words, used often or forcefully enough, wield a great deal of power.

So I pass along this lesson from my Irish brother and sister on to you: Use your power well. And don’t ‘lose’ it indiscriminately!

Aftermath: Brilliant Sky – Photo: L.Weikel

(T- 998)