1111 devotion

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)

Christmas Eve Magic – Day Forty Three

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Christmas Eve Magic

Karl, Maximus, Tiffany, Sage, Sarah and I took a moon and starlight walk earlier this evening. It was weird to have the luxury to engage in such an indulgence and enjoy the brilliant night sky. It brought back vivid memories of riding home in the back seat of my parents’ car after midnight mass on Christmas Eve, with my head leaning against the car window, staring up at the stars, yearning to see something magical streak across the sky.

I’ve always believed in magic. I might not see it very often, but I know it exists.

And not the magic that comes with top hats and card tricks. Real magic. The magic of magi, of wisdom, of the power of love.

Christmas Eve always reminds me of my mother. I miss her exquisitely on Christmas Eve, probably because, as a mother myself, I’ve realized through the years how much work it takes to coordinate ‘life’ to make magic real for our children.

And not in the manner that you might think. Not in making sure wished-for toys found their way under the tree or in the stockings.

Rather, in cultivating an attitude of wonder and possibility.

No one in my family ever definitively told me I was ridiculous to feel the magic of Christmas. And yet no one ever made a big show of pretending in order to foster the magic, either. I grew up with an attitude of possibility cultivated by my mother; an unspoken acknowledgement that if you rule out any hope of encountering the unexpected, you very well may make yourself blind to it.

I never want to be so sure of anything that I make myself blind to the possibility of magic.

And I have my mother to thank for that, as well as a dad and siblings who never felt compelled to douse the light in my eyes; the light that will always believe in and search for evidence of enchantment and hope, love and kindness.

May all of you keep searching for evidence of what you know is true in your hearts.

(T-1068)

Resistance – Day Forty Two

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Resistance

I hate being faced with my glaring deficiencies; resistance being one of them.

Sometimes they just walk up and stand in front of me, though, and no matter what I do, I can’t get around them.

One of those that’s staring me down at the moment is a resistance to marketing. Marketing myself in any way, for anything, primarily. But marketing in general is always a persistently vexing subtext.

I might as well speak substance, since I don’t have a big window tonight: I’ve been invited to participate in the I AM Winter Solstice Symposium, arranged and produced by my friend, Renee Baribeau. Renee is the author of Winds of Spirit, which was published by Hay House this past spring.

I AM Winter Solstice Symposium 2018

Renee did our interview ahead of time. Mine airs tomorrow. The entire program began on Thursday evening, with an opening Fire Ceremony in honor and celebration of the Solstice. I dropped the ball by not sending out an announcement about the Symposium to my Hoot List several days ago, a lapse which I really must rectify tonight, if possible.

The problem is, beyond (or perhaps in tandem with) my resistance to marketing is my reluctance to get knee deep into technological endeavors, such as trying to figure out how to insert into a Hoot Alert the graphics Renee so generously provides me.

Seriously, I should have this stuff figured out by now.

Join the Wind Clan on Facebook

So let me just say this now: My presentation is airing tomorrow (Christmas Eve) at 1:00 p.m. EST. In order to access it, you need to join the Wind Clan on FB at this link. (And if I haven’t figured out how to add that link before I have to hit <publish> on this post, please check out my Hoot Alert, which I intend to write and get sent out before I go to bed tonight!)

Above and beyond my presentation, though (the subject of which will not surprise you if you’ve been reading these 1111 Devotion posts), are the presentations of 17 amazing women with unique and inspiring messages and suggestions for making your life a little bit richer, creative, and sacred.

Join us! And help me push past this resistance to marketing by enjoying my offering. Who knows what inspiration awaits!

(T-1069)

Where are the Close Encounters Now? – Day Forty One

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Where are the Close Encounters Now?

We just finished watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

I remember watching it at a movie theater when it came out. As we watched it tonight, I was transported back to the days when I was in college, and then first married.

Watching that movie in 2018 yet remembering what it was like to live in 1977, I was shocked. Yes, our computers are light-years beyond what we had at our fingertips back then. And yes, today there would probably be just as many women as men scientists involved in such a rendezvous (let’s hope).

But I was stunned to consider just how precious little we seem to have succeeded in exploring more deeply into space on a personal level in the past 41 years.

Think of it – forty one years! Shouldn’t we be at least communicating and establishing relationships with other civilizations by now? Or have a base on Mars or Venus or both?

We landed a human on the moon in 1969. I was ten years old.

When my mother was ten years old, in 1927, Lindbergh flew across the ocean.

Forty Two Years

There were only 42 years between having the technology to fly across the ocean and having the technology to not only fly to the moon, but also successfully land on it, and return to tell about it!

So, really –  it makes me question just what the heck we’ve been doing these past 42 years. It seems we’ve lost our way. Our curiosity as a country appears to have lost its focus on great scientific innovation and exploration of the natural world, in particular the universe (and multiverse), and turned instead to navel gazing and wondering how we can exploit the Earth most effectively to earn a small amount of people more money than they could ever imagine spending.

I know innovative research is still taking place. But I also know that there seems to be a lack of communal vision of working toward new horizons. Not to conquer, but to discover. Not to exploit, but to explore.

Is it just me, or were you hoping we’d be way further along the road to astonishing new discoveries, vistas, and opportunities by now?

Then again, I have my experiences of living my now to compare to the ‘reality’ depicted of every day life in the U.S. in 1977 (based upon the movie). They made fun of parapsychology in the movie. I have my degree in Psychology and made the mistake of mentioning parapsychology to the grad student I was a research assistant for as an undergrad. She ripped my head off when I even mentioned the word ‘parapsychology’ (and my interest in it).

And yet…look at me now. What I do. My education level. How I am of service to others.

Are the shamanic journeys I’ve learned to take the actual mode of exploration that’s going to shift the evolution of our world? Not what I would have thought, but think of the possibilities of uniting science and shamanism.

(T-1070)

Tested to Trust – Day Thirty Seven

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Tested to Trust

I find myself tested this evening. Tested to trust that it is time to share with all of you a topic that’s popped into my head at least a couple of times recently and asked to be shared.

Funny thing is, it begs to be shared, yet I worry that, by sharing it, I will dilute its power and effectiveness.  Quite the conundrum, I suppose.

Starting With a Blank Slate

I’ve discussed in other posts how I’ve gradually embraced the practice of actively eschewing ‘knowing too much’ about my clients before having a session with them. Remarkably, to my mind, I’ve found that the less I know intellectually about a person before a session, the more ‘blank’ my slate is with respect to them – hence, I can sit in Sacred Space with a person and allow their story to unfold without any preconceptions.

My sense, as I’ve allowed this practice to deepen in the 15 or so years that I’ve been engaging in shamanic work on behalf of other people (i.e., not just for myself), is that this is a rare experience for a client indeed.

No preconceptions. No chart or notes to review. No test results. No referral slip.

Just us. Just us and the cocoon of energy and palpable comfort and support that comes with the arrival of invisible allies, ancestors, guardians, and guides.

Usually, upon listening to the interweaving of my client’s life experiences, I detect the thread that’s appeared in one way or another, in and out of their life at various times, and which now either needs to be removed altogether or at the very least transmuted.

I can attest to the joy and astonishment I feel each and every time I see the light dancing in my client’s eyes at the conclusion of a session. I never take for granted that the ‘magic’ will happen with this client. (Any client.) Because in truth, I have no control over what happens in a session. Oh yeah, I control the outward stuff: I’m the one who opens Sacred Space, who establishes a sense of safety and confidentiality with my client. I set the tone by explaining that they can ‘start anywhere’ in the process of telling me about themselves – and reassure (or is it terrify?) them that we will ‘go everywhere.’

And I can use the skills I’ve developed and cultivated – probably all my life (and in many others, I suspect) – to hone in on that thread that holds the recurring pattern that now yearns to be addressed and is the reason my client was urged to set up an appointment with me in the first place.

When the Magic Really Happens

But really and truly? The magic happens when they stop talking and I go into another mode altogether. I stop talking, too – at least, as Lisa.

It’s not that I can’t hear myself speaking (when and if I do, which is never the same from one session to the next) when I begin the actual shamanic aspect of the session. I can. But it feels like it is coming from somewhere else.

And I’ve learned that I need to write down as much as I can – whether it be what I am speaking out loud or, more often, what I am being shown or told just outside or on the edge of this reality – because very similar to having a powerful dream that you think you will never forget, the sights, the sounds, the stories that I’ve experienced rapidly disperse like a wisp of smoke at session’s end.

Tested to Trust – a Leap of Faith

Each and every time I ‘move my client to the floor’ (which means we conclude our conversation on the comfortable chairs and couches in my office and my client joins me on the floor, face-to-face, initially, to work with the stones in my mesa) it is a leap of faith. It is placing my trust in Spirit to guide me on how best to work together with my client’s soul to effect the shift or healing in their life that is for their highest good.

Wow, once again, I started out intending to write about one thing, and something else obviously wanted to be expressed. Indeed – that’s sort of what I intended to write about to begin with!

Wait, what?

(T-1074)

Messenger – Day Thirty Six

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Messenger

I’m thinking perhaps the Medicine Cards®took pity on you today, my wonderful 1111 Devotion companions.

My last two posts have been sort of on the intense side, and may have actually ruffled a few feathers. That’s especially true given what I might characterize as Pollyanna-ish lenses through which many people look upon prayers and ‘good intentions.’

But lucky for you, I chose Hawk with Deer underneath, so this message carrier is going to take a more gentle approach today. (I hope.)

Indeed, I wasn’t sure what message Hawk was bringing me when I chose and read it this morning. One interesting possibility that presented itself was when one of my readers sent me a message letting me know that she chose Hawk reversed today, and didn’t that contrary description of Hawk contain the very word I’d focused on in yesterday’s post? Tampering. Yes it did. So being astute, and having that somewhat odd word show up in her experience two days in a row, she definitely felt like she needed to pay attention. Well-spotted!

The word was used in the context of Hawk being the message carrier and therefore needing to focus upon and remain dedicated to its job: delivering the message. Its charge is not to ‘interpret’ the message for the recipient, because obviously, everyone perceives life through the filters of their own thoughts, feelings, and experiences. So when the messenger puts their unique spin on that message, they are tampering. For it is entirely possible that they could be way off base and sending the recipient into a spiral of confusion.

I’d forgotten that that particular word is used in Hawk reversed – and I probably wouldn’t have remembered it this morning had Janice not called it to my attention, since I chose, and thus only read aloud to Karl, Hawk upright.

As my day unfolded, I found myself feeling overwhelmed by end-of-year responsibilities. In beginning the process of reflecting upon my accomplishments during this year, I found myself wanting. It seemed as if everywhere I looked, I was coming up short, and I even started questioning just what I was doing with this blog and this 1111 Devotion.

All of this took me somewhat by surprise.

Deer to the Rescue

And then I realized that I needed to apply a little Deer to myself. I take the responsibility of being a messenger (Hawk) very seriously. I talk a good game, saying that I ‘know’ there will be days that my posts won’t deliver a compelling or even entertaining message. But I hate the thought.

Deer underneath, though, had perhaps foreseen that I might take the downward path of self-criticism today – and was telling me to go easy. Don’t be such a harsh critic. Be a little kind to myself.

It’s not always easy, is it?

(T-1075)

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)

Indulgence – Day Twenty Seven

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Indulgence

It seems I struck a chord with my post on evening silence last night.

Why is it that so many of us find it difficult to give ourselves permission to indulge in those experiences that make us feel wistful when we contemplate them? And why do we consider engaging in those experiences indulgent?

When I started writing this post, I was surprised by how I almost feel naughty when imagining myself basking in evening silence, giving myself all the time I desire to immerse myself in another world for a while or write in my journal. And I could almost hear that same tinge-of-guilt-yearning in many of the comments I read to yesterday’s musing.

What is it about indulgence? Does it mean to give ourselves permission to do something risqué?

Nope!

According to the World Book Dictionary, to ‘indulge’ means: v. to give way to one’s pleasure (in); let oneself have use, or do what one wants; to give in to the wishes or whims of; humor.

Why Do We Make Ourselves Wrong?

I find it fascinating that my knee-jerk reaction to ‘letting myself do what I want’ – particularly something as nurturing as disconnecting from the chaos of the outside world – is something that provokes a vague sense being flighty or irresponsible or, as I said above, slightly naughty.

It’s weird.

Why is the idea of spending our time in ways that bring smiles to our hearts and joy to our eyes considered humoring ourselves?

When I let myself ‘go deep’ and really think about how much time any of us have in a particular lifetime, and how I actually spend my time, I can quickly lapse into a state of pre-melancholy if I’m not careful. There are a lot of things I do mindlessly. A lot of activities that I only do because, ugh – I hate to admit it – ‘everyone else does.’

Start Indulging In the Good Stuff NOW

I do not want to get to the end of my life and wish I’d indulged myself more often.

Because why the hell shouldn’t I indulge myself now? And why shouldn’t you? My indulgences are not of the sort that hurt anyone else. They don’t even harm either my own body or soul, as one might argue excessive drinking or debauchery (what a great word, that) might. While I do not know what your indulgences might entail, I imagine many are of a sweet, creative nature.

Permitting yourself to write those poems. Giving yourself an uncluttered space to paint. Shoving the couch to the side of the room and allowing yourself to dance. Allowing yourself to listen to the wind and play that haunting tune you hear on your acoustic guitar.

I feel a revolution coming on. A revolution of indulgence.

What secret yearning do you hold within that calls for you to humor today? Join me.

(T-1084)

Evening Silence – Day Twenty Six

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Evening Silence

I’m sitting here trying really hard to think of something even remotely interesting to write about tonight.

I’ve turned off the tv much earlier than usual (or at least, earlier than I used to), as I’ve done every evening since beginning the 1111 Devotion project, because it’s just way too distracting to have it on while I’m trying to write and thus the only way I’ll get the job done.

I must admit: I love listening to the silence, especially the silence that descends upon a room immediately upon clicking the tv into oblivion. It never fails to soothe me, no matter what I’m doing in the moment. And just like now, I wonder why I don’t seek evening silence out more often.

I’m calling it evening silence because I don’t seem to ever be tempted to turn the tv on during the day. Of course, a lot of times I’m not in a position to turn one on during the day. I’m not bringing this up as any ‘badge of honor’ sort of thing. It’s just a fact that I only rarely become aware of – but am appreciating much more often as a result of engaging my commitment.

Appreciation: A By-Product of My Act of Power

I guess you could say this appreciation of the evening silence is an unexpected but delightful by-product of this Act of Power. And in a way, it is a means of garnering power.

Even if I might be otherwise watching a program that edifies me in some way, I don’t think I get as much out of it, quite honestly, as I do the silence. Because if I lapse into the normal routine I was in prior to making this commitment, I would retire upstairs as soon as I turned off the tv. I might read my book for a few minutes, but in truth, my actual presence in and appreciation of the evening silence was minimal.

I find myself thinking back on when our sons were growing up, especially the two older ones, Karl and Maximus. Back when Karl was in elementary school, we didn’t get cable at first. We were limited to the three channels (3, 6, and 10) of the major networks, and maybe some UHF channels. Granted, that didn’t last long. But I know it made a difference in the way we spent our time.

Indeed, I sometimes wonder – especially lately – whether that is not a significant liability to my efforts to write the sequel to Owl Medicinehttps://amzn.to/2M6st6B. I’ve become addicted to the political news shows, especially. In some ways, I feel it is my civic responsibility to remain aware and informed. And goodness knows, it becomes harder and harder to peel our eyes away from the latest ‘news.’

But really, I have to ask myself: Is it worth my time? Wouldn’t I rather be spending time in the evening silence, immersed in one of my beloved books? Or writing one of my own?

Yeah, I think I would.

(T-1085)