The List

I received an email from a friend of mine recently. She sent me Ten Guidelines from God, in which He states there are changes I have to make in my life, effective immediately. He apologizes for any inconvenience.

God, in his guidelines, tells me to quit worrying. He tells me that I must enjoy fretting over everything, since I seem to do it all the time...it has become a habit. He tells me I must have forgotten about Him and His promise to take my burdens and carry them for me.

He tells me to "put it on the List". He tells me, in no uncertain terms, that this List is His, not mine, and therefore He is the one who will take care of the problem. He tells me that He can't do anything about any worry I might have until I turn it over to Him. And then I have to remember to ask Him for help.

After this, God tells me to trust Him. He says once I have turned over my weaknesses to Him, I am not to take them back. Those problems are now His. And should those problems return, in some way, to me...I am not to hold it close to me anymore...I am to return it to His To-Do List. He will take care of it, in time.

But I think God knows me really well.

Because He then suggests I am to let Him do His job. In other words, I am to have Faith in Him. And I am not to go niggling at the problem, just to see if anything has changed. He tells I really do not know best...He does.

Then He asks me...How hard can trust be?

He says it's a really simple part, the one I play in this game of Life...all I have to do is have Faith He will look after my needs. All I have to do with my problems is to "put it on the List."

Hmmm.

There are more guidelines, in this email from Franca. But these first ones are the ones that are difficult for me to do.

But I've noticed something. I've noticed that a problem that is becoming obsessive and is keeping me awake nights...when it is placed on God's List, I feel relief. And peace.

It is acceptance of the situation that gives me that serenity. Before I can place anything on a List, I have to be sure I have done everything I can, used all the wisdom I have. Only then, when I am at the end of my rope, will I hand it over to Creator.

With health problems seemingly taking over my life these days, I sometimes feel totally consumed by trying to find ways to manage those problems. I read about RA, I try various therapies, I go see specialists...it seems as if this is all I do, lately. The latest thing is orthotics.

I am running out of options. It is close to the time when I will have to place what feels like an obsession on God's list. It is close to the time when I can no longer fight for former youth and better health. Instead, I am close to accepting the limitations my health places on me.

I have a feeling that as soon as I do, I won't notice those limitations as much.

Acceptance in this case will be difficult. I am still unable to let go that, perhaps, I will find some remedy that will allow me to be as active as I was just a few years ago. This is denial of the facts I have been presented with by doctors. But I tell them, when they tell me there is no cure, there might be...there just might be something that will help.

And I tell them...I am not looking for a cure. I am looking for manageability. I am trying to find the best way to live, with limitations.

I ask them...Can you fault me for this?

But I understand. Doctors, my doctor tells me, are programmed to heal, to find a treatment that works. And when they can't...it makes my doctor angry and frustrated. He is rarely able to accept his own limitations.

The other day I told him there were alternative treatments he may not know about. He agreed completely and wished me all the best in my search. He gave me the pros and cons...and if truth be told, it was mostly cons.

Nonetheless, I felt relieved. All those talks I've had with Creator have borne fruit. Inch by inch, so slowly it is hardly noticeable, He is giving me strength. Strength to take a stand, strength to have the courage of my convictions. He is giving me the courage to change the things I can.

And that's one of his other Guidelines. All things will happen in His time, not mine. He sees the whole picture...His view of the World, He tells me, is not one I would want...and all I have to do is trust him. He will get to my to-do List.

He reminds me, once again, that events in my life have fallen into place, over and over again. When it was the right time for whatever it might be, there was almost a free fall of events happening...like a jigsaw puzzle, with the missing pieces suddenly finding their rightful place.

I think he's talking about patience.

And that's another one of his Guidelines.

And a whole other post!

The Thin Veil

Last night, when I wandered outside with camera in hand, the only thought in my mind was taking pictures of the full Moon rising.

I love the Night. I love how the deep shadows soften the edges; how, even under the bright lights from the street lamps, those shadows know secrets, hidden from my questioning eyes.

And when the Moon is full and casting its impossibly bright, brilliant light upon Mother Earth...at this time of year, the Veil is thin between Worlds.

All Hallow's Eve...a seasonal time when good and evil Spirits both, visit from other planes. Perhaps they seek reassurance of their loved ones' welfare...the ones left behind when Death came for them. Perhaps they visit for nefarious purposes. Perhaps they are just curious. Nonetheless...they're here.

I've read they like to play practical jokes on the Soul still having the Human experience.

I am aware , as I walk through the dark garden paths, of packets of Spirits...I walk through some of their Energy. I feel the joyful souls, the sad and mournful ones, the curious ones...and I welcome them all. There is not much energy with evil intent, here amidst the safety of my well-loved plants.

But, oh! It is so dark, way back behind Grandfather Tree, and in front of Cork Tree, ablaze, in the daylight, with golden leaves...but now, only a black bulk configured against the deep indigo of the Night Sky.

In Grandfather Tree's presence, I find it easy to seek the mellow reassurance he offers me...I know, without having to actually see, how to navigate around him. His branches tickle my cheek. The chimes tinkle, with the sudden soughing of Wind that whispers sibilant secrets to me...secrets only intended for my ears.

It is a quiet evening. In earlier years, fireworks would have lit up the Skies, frightening inhabitants with the sudden booming of a big Cracker sent up by the juvenile contingent. But now, bylaws have been passed against it, giving all pet owners a sense of relief. There will be those who will test the law; they have already made their presence known...but no longer do our dogs shiver and shake their way through the Hallowe'en season.

I am deep in thought, as my eyes adjust to the black Night. I imagine myself in the centre of the Secret Forest, where rarely any light intruded during the Night hours, and where silence was so total, it became a thing all to itself. I imagine myself walking along the soft Forest floor, littered with needles and leaves. The soft branches brushing my sleeve, the sticky Spider's Webs, their hostesses long gone, clinging to my hair, and the crackle of dry leaves underfoot...that old Forest is still alive, in my mind.

I am happy to visit, happy that I can still conjure up a place so dear to my heart, and I stay there in the stillness, my eyes closed, my breathing slow, feeling the soft vibrations of the energy imparted by Grandfather Tree, taking me on a journey into the past...

And then, a long mournful howl from the Malemute across the Way...another...he brings his sad longing for his North Country into my garden. Sudden tears prick my eyelids, and my heart follows his in his desperate song to the very full Moon.

He is a dog away from his place. Away from his Pack. He howls to the Moon, following the age-old plaintive Call of the Wild, hoping against hope a member of his Pack will answer...

The dog's painful lament ceases; there is a breathless silence once more.

And then...not ten feet away, my ears are split by a baby's sudden terrified cry. My heart stops; I grab a branch from Grandfather Tree to steady myself. The shriek suddenly ceases.

From the relative safety of Grandfather, I peer through the branches, hear the low moan and instantly recognize the voice of Cat. I see two eyes blazing into mine from a low over-hanging branch from Cork Tree.

We stare at each other for some time. I know Cat is pretending to be Lion in a medieval Forest, just as I imagine myself back in time.

The dogs' furious barking, as they round the corner of the house, intrudes upon our silent sharing of fantasies. I raise my camera...but too late. Only the dogs' barking and hysterical demeanours tell me I had a visitor at all.

I sense Grandfather Tree's mirth. And even if my heart is still pounding hard in my chest, I chuckle along as well.

As I wander back to the house, back to the Big Chair and the fireplace, back to safety... I consider the ramifications of meditations outside, deep in the dark of the Night.

And then, I remember the practical jokes Spirits like to play. I wonder...

The Veil is thin. Was I just the butt of a Spirit Jokester?

Eight Things

This is a tough one. Matt asked me to write about eight things not generally known about me.

It's tough because basically I have already written about anything remotely interesting about myself; it's tough because I don't like to open myself to others, even though I write in this blog as if I have no trouble doing just that.

And it's tough because today I am feeling a little under the weather...it has been stormy, cold and rainy for the past couple of weeks; my body reflects what's happening outside. I really just want to go to bed; however, this is not a thing I can do easily, seemingly. I would lie there, thinking about all the things I should be doing.

One of which is catching up on my writing.

One thing not generally known about me is that I wanted, with my whole heart, to be an archaeologist. I studied it, I read books about it, I fantasized sifting through Dirt, chiseling on Rocks, being outside and deeply involved in what was appearing before me. I even wrote a paper on it, for my Grade 11 Creative Writing Class.

If Archaeology was not to be in my future, neither was the other interest...to be a Midwife. There were few of those when I was of the age to look for further education. Midwifery did not become mainstream until I already had my babies.

I can't think of a finer occupation. To greet those brand new Souls as they arrive would be
incomparable to me, always awesome, always close to Creator.

And then there is the time I lived on a Commune for a few months, after I graduated. It was a great experience...these people I lived with were committed to Mother Earth. But they were not so committed to each other or each other's possessions. Sensitivity and kindness were sorely lacking on this commune...we were all very young, selfish and as passionate as the youth of the sixties generally were.

When my brand new vehicle was used for pulling logs out of the bush...it felt like it was time to move on.

This next one is probably obvious, since I tend to write about Storms, Wind, and Rain more than I do about Sunshine. I love inclement Weather. Really strong inclement Weather. The kind where battening down the hatches is advised. The kind where I can go down to the Seawall and watch Ocean's waves smash and fly onto the Beach, covering people like me, standing on shore, with cold, foamy Seawater.

And with that in mind, my ideal place to live would be with the Ocean at my front and the Forest at my back. I am close to the ideal, where I live...I can see the Ocean from the front of my home, and there is a large, forested Park at my back. In my fantasy, however, there are no other houses around...only Forest and Ocean. I grew up on acreage; it seems acclimatizing myself to neighbourhoods and traffic, rules and regulations is one of those things that requires more acceptance on my part.

All my life, I have eaten foods that were in Season. There is much that is written about sustainable living these days. As I read the literature, I think...This is not new, at least to me. Slow foods are the staple of my cooking. I look forward to the seasonal harvest, eschewing the pap that is sold in the stores, foods that come from thousands of miles away.

I find Farmer's Markets artistic and creative...all the displays show colours and shapes only Creator could have designed. It is a photo opportunity, that changes as the Seasons turn.

And this is an area I would love to explore...growing enough food to take to the Market. I picture in my mind's eye a smallish home on the Beach, with enough area for a large Market garden, and path's to follow into a deep Forest. The house, on second thought, should be a little larger, for the Bed and Breakfast I would run. Relaxation and good food would be the order of the day for my guests.

In direct opposition to running a Bed and Breakfast here on the Island, I look forward to staying in those B and B's, when I travel in the UK, one desire not so unknown to others. This one, as opposed to the house on the Beach, will happen. This one is just waiting for the right time.

One of my favourite ways to beat feeling under the weather, is to make myself a cup of Herbal Tea, grab a crossword puzzle that is not too difficult (else I would just be frustrated and sick) and plunk myself down in the Big Chair by the fireplace. I would doze in between brilliant word choices...and wake up, at the end of my sojourn, feeling ever so much better.

And this is just what I'm going to do.

Matt's directions include naming five other people. I hesitate to do so; most of the bloggers I know have already done this meme. However, in the spirit of the whole thing, I will name Marsha, Joe and Princess Haiku. I realize there are only three bloggers I've named; if there is anyone who would like to write about eight things you hide deep in your heart, by all means, let me know, and I will provide a link to your site.

Thank you, Matt, for giving me the opportunity to write about these half-forgotten desires and experiences I have. I could have written a lot more, had I not fallen victim to this disgusting bug presently inhabiting my body.

The Big Chair is calling my name.

Relaxation

The other day, I asked Graham to give me a Reiki session...my body had fallen out of sync since the attack of the Hives. I had also noticed more negativity, in my outlook.

People who look mostly to the dark side of life will reflect their opinion in their faces, as they grow older. Perpetual frown marks, down-turned lines at the corner of mouths become entrenched...and before it can be realized what is happening, those deep furrows are on the face for evermore.

If I am going to be wrinkled, I want those wrinkles to show my laughter and joy, rather than my frowns and pouts. Laughter lifts the face; frowns drag them down.

A walk through a Senior's Centre will show the faces...well-lived, to be sure...of the people who found their glass half-full, instead of half-empty. There is a vestige of the Sun left in those positive, loving, open and non-judgemental faces.

A Reiki session will last 45 minutes to an hour. This one felt as if it lasted only five minutes.

However long it was, it was extremely full. Dreams and visions, brightly coloured and energetic, took precedence almost immediately, when Graham began the Reiki treatment. My body became filled with the most intense energy...and I was kept there for almost the entire session.

The colours that appeared, enclosing me, were mostly vibrant purple, with slashes of yellow, blue and green. It felt as I would feel if I was in the middle of the Northern Lights, with stunning displays of colour surrounding me.

I noticed my breathing had slowed...I felt deeply relaxed. I relished this almost weightless feeling, as if I drifted on a cloud, well and happy...far away from Hives and other woes. I wanted to remain here forever.

But the Purple became more insistent. With the smell of Lavender gently wafting around me, I followed the Purple light...a light that would sound lurid if I were to describe it, but felt soft, deep and velvety. I travelled along the Purple path, not sure where I was being led.

I felt a little anxiety suddenly...and the propulsion slowed, giving me time to adjust. When I am not sure of where I'm travelling during these meditative journeys, I take time to assure myself that all my tools are in place...and this journey happened too quickly for me to do this vital step.

So I blocked myself; I did not trust completely, this God essence that was trying to show me a different reality. I wanted my tools, I wanted to be absolutely sure...and yet, other than the anxiety that I was not in complete control, I felt warm and comforted. It was a conundrum.

Taking a deep breath, I followed the Purple again, once again in complete relaxation. I became certain of my safety, convinced I absolutely trusted the energy that lead me...

And then, with swift suddenness, I was in Water, a deep body of Water, with no land in sight. I was sinking, I saw myself go under and drift freely in the Water...and again I blocked the feel and sight of the beckoning Purple path.

I do not want to drown, I told myself, and swam desperately to the surface of the body of Water. In an instant, I was once again on top...once again in control, breathing freely...until I realized I had never stopped, I could breathe in the Water, I was in no danger...breathing under Water was a thing I could suddenly do. Once again, my trust was lacking.

Fear a coppery taste in my mouth, I made the decision to go ahead, and as if I had never hesitated, I again floated downward, breathing freely. As I assimilated my new reality, as I became comfortable, I noticed there were Mountains, Hills and craggy Rocks, with lush plant life swaying in the Water's gentle current, all bathed in the Purple light.

I felt my Guides very closely, as I drifted downward, down, down...completely relaxed, my body as weightless as the puff of a thistle seed.

A City loomed beneath me; buildings nestled in amongst the Mountains, streets curving around square shaped substantial dwellings and towers. I walked the streets, understanding there were others around me, yet not able to distinguish them. And then, I was in one of those buildings, completely engulfed by the Purple, drawn to the deep, deep centre of the Purple light.

Where was I? Why was I not hesitating, once again? What was the Light? But it felt so right, to continue on. I was breathing, I felt buoyed, I felt as secure as I ever would...was the time right? I asked my Guides, as I stood there with the Purple light vibrating through my entire being. What, I asked, was I to do, what was expected of me?

I felt the huddle, I felt people all around me. I felt luminous, my Spirit at peace. My mind shimmered with the Purple; I felt the complete magic of this place where I felt myself to be. My body no longer hurt, it felt free and light.

I was given a reminder of what it felt like, before I allowed pain and disillusionment to enter my mind. Before I allowed everyday life occurrences to take over, before I understood that I was required to treat myself and my body with the same passion that I treated my writing, my gardening, and others in my life.

When I was young, I took my body for granted. This is no longer a possibility...

As I understood this, I felt a reverse tug...and felt myself standing in a field of Lavender, her unearthly scent rising, becoming part of me.

I felt Graham move away; the Reiki session was over.

Slowly, I allowed my body to awaken. I felt refreshed and light, after my journey into the Purple. There were lessons here, to be mulled over at my leisure.

For now, for this one moment, I enjoyed the relaxation and serenity I felt throughout every cell in my body. It would take awhile before the negative gremlins returned...and I wondered if perhaps they'd stay away, if I only remembered the Purple.

It will take practice, to feel as well as at the end of my journey to the Purple City. I was shown how well I could feel, and I was shown how amazing it really is, when Body, Mind and Spirit are in balance and in sync.

More answers will arrive; they always do after a Reiki treatment.

I wanted relaxation and balance; as usual, the Universe sent me so much more than I could ever imagine.

Recollections

Recently, I've had the urge to minimize, in all areas of my life. Cleaning closets, cupboards and storage sheds give me immense satisfaction; I feel much lighter, far more in control when I have taken the detritus from the past, looked, remembered and then let them go.

Sometimes it can be painful. Then there can be joy, as well, as when a small hooded sweater, one that would fit a newborn, falls at my feet...and I remember my babies, both of whom wore the unbelievably soft pale pink garment.

When I kept it, I thought my grandchildren, if they were girls, would keep warm and cosy in it; I honestly believed this, when I was a young mother. How could anyone not want their newborn baby wrapped in this beautiful little outfit?

There were many such sweaters. But this pink one...the colour of it, the softness, the type of knit...a Mother's love was encapsulated within the very woollen texture of it. My love.

Heidi was the first to wear it. Her beautiful blue eyes peeked through the frill of wool, with grave wonder and such interest in the World she found herself in. Heidi was one of most aware babies I have known; her son is very much the same as she, in that he must know what is going on around him.

She grew out of it very quickly, and I mourned as I placed it for safekeeping. No other piece of clothing she had was as soft as this one, this delicate wisp of sweet pink.

I wrapped it carefully in tissue paper. I took great care with it, each time we moved, to keep it safe.

Katrina was the second baby that wore the thistledown pink sweater. Her deep brown eyes watched and accepted the World, through the frill of pink. She was the most peaceful baby I have known, filled with serenity. When she wore the sweater, she would send me the greatest consistently amiable energy; when I held her, my heart would fill...she had the ability to calm any agitation I might have had. This gift would sustain others, for the rest of her short life.

The sweater was again wrapped, after I could no longer squeeze her into it. But it was wrapped rather hurriedly this time; I knew I could have no more children. The Big C took care of my feminine organs; life was harried and very, very full.

Bree came along. I still had the pink sweater, wrapped in yellowed tissue paper. But it was twenty years later. Fashions had changed. And my lovely pink sweater was no longer as pristine as the new fashions...the new sweaters Bree received. And Katrina needed to find her own pink sweater for Bree...one that was infused with a Mother's love. Her love.

But I kept it, and Bree used it to dress her dolls. She chose the pink sweater for her favourite doll; when she held it, I knew deep inside she was feeling that warm, loving energy emanating from the wool.

I packed up Bree's toys when I moved; I found the pink sweater, still wrapped around her doll. She had long grown out of playing with baby dolls; her interests now were centred around sports and hobbies more suited to her age.

I donated the doll; I kept the pink sweater, not so carefully this time. But as I rubbed it against my cheek, the loving energy once more engulfed me; I could not consign it to the rag bin. I took that piece of my life with me, once again...to help me meet the huge Wave of change crashing down upon me with strength and grace.

And then, Graydon came along, bursting upon our family, filled with masculine energy. Certainly he had no need for a tattered pink sweater. But as I hold him, sometimes I visualize my babies wrapped in a swath of pink...and I feel, once again, that pure loving energy...a Grandmother's love. My love.

When it fell against my feet, as I searched through the bag of memories, I picked it up and brushed it off and felt the warm, pink softness, piercing my heart like a true and sure arrow of love.

And in a flash, I had a vision of soft, pure feminine energy...an ethereal wisp of energy. I saw blond curls...I was given a glimpse of a gentle soul...one, I realized, that has yet to appear.

I understood, suddenly, that the pink sweater still has a purpose, as I held it gently in my hands.
This time, I placed it near me in my office. I make sure to give as much respect as I can muster for this tattered piece of pink, this object that has collected my past, and kept the best of the whole.

Minimizing is great. But some things...the ones infused with pieces of my soul...those are the ones that are given a place of honour. They are my talismans.

The Pink Sweater surely belongs amongst them.

I Beg Your Parden

"I never promised you a Rose Garden"...this is the song that has been playing in my head, swirling around me like a silken scarf, as I busy myself with small morning chores.

I cannot sit for long, you see...or lie down...or walk, with any comfort. I itch, is what I do. Everywhere. I have had an allergic reaction to Hydroxychloroquine...a medication prescribed for Rheumatoid Arthritis...and other diseases.

I didn't know why I was itching, for a couple of days. And then, after I scratched...welts appeared, thousands of them. I felt nauseous as well...

I stopped taking that pill. My doctor tells me it was a side effect he hoped wouldn't happen. He was dispirited...we had tried everything else. My body reacts to anti-inflammatories, in different ways, high blood pressure being the usual effect to watch for.

But hives? I've never had hives before. My friend DB suffered through a case of Poison Ivy recently. I remember thinking the rash must be like measles or chicken pox.

Measles has nothing on hives, if there was to be a contest.

Sleep is next to impossible. I have tried various remedies, and they work a bit for awhile. Then I happen to turn or otherwise disturb my skin...and a raging conflagration of itching begins.

And to make health matters a little worse, yesterday I was diagnosed with cataracts. I am suddenly prone to what I used to believe were "senior's maladies".

How did I get here? Wasn't I just 18 not so long ago? I certainly don't feel any older, although the calendar would beg to differ.

These were the thoughts running through my head, last night when I couldn't sleep. And then I went a little further. I began to stew at the unfairness of it all. I worked up a good, old, self-righteous anger, shaking my fist at Creator. Why me?... I asked....Whatever did I do to deserve all these things that happen, as I age?

Perhaps you might know what I'm talking about...a rant in the mind that has a lot of "me's" in the dialogue.

And while I was on the subject, I told him...How come I can't find anything to soothe the Itch? Switching to abject misery, I asked for help...and then as a furious attack of Itching began again...I begged for help.

As I drifted into an uneasy sleep, I felt an awesome weight lifted...as if huge Boulders I had unconsciously begun carrying had been taken off me...and I knew some answers would come.

Upon awakening, I found a cream that helped...and then I took a dreaded antihistamine, something I had not taken for years, since they had a bad habit of putting me to sleep for a few days and also a side effect of displays of temper.

I was desperate...and I kept hearing the name of the antihistamine I was to take. I took it, finally, convinced it was going to make matters worse. But it didn't. It worked.

Would Creator give me the name of something that wouldn't have worked?

Many messages come to me in the words of a song I haven't heard for awhile. If a song suddenly pops into my mind, I have learned to take note of the words.

What are they trying to tell me?... I ask myself. What are the rest of the words to the song? And if I don't know them, other than a refrain, I will look up the words. I have never regretted it. I have always received exactly what I need to hear at the time.

As I made coffee, I heard the song..."I beg your pardon, I never promised you a Rose Garden, Along with the Sunshine, there's gotta be a little Rain sometimes."

I got the message.

I still have the hives; I still have cataracts; I still have RA...but I am no longer in a well of Self-Pity.

Self-Pity is just an excuse to do nothing about the situation.

And as the message says...I beg your pardon...but get with the programme. Be grateful for the good and accept the bad. Shelve the Pity Pot.

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, Everyone!