Friday, July 16, 2021

Souvenirs

I just discovered I had not published this post from April 25, 2020.

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During this time of stay-at-home orders, I have used my imagination in various ways. One, if I was on a spaceship, I'd have to stay inside the entire time I was in space. I can pretend I am on a secret mission via boat or spaceship. I wrote in a previous post about Howl's Moving Castle -- turning a knob that opens the door to different places even when you never leave the castle. I can also do this each time I look at an object I share space within my apartment.

One of many self-therapies I do is practicing gratitude. This includes paying attention to each and every object in my home, bringing them to life vs. just sitting on a shelf, in a cabinet, on a wall, or in a draw. Many are souvenirs... reminding me of places I used to live or travel to. Some remind me of people I used to know. Here are some examples.

There is a three-foot square quilt my brother's wife made for me when she got into a quilting mood. It is hanging by the table I work at every day. When I look at it, I see in my mind their beautiful house and their land in Vermont... where I visited a very long time ago. I have a digital album of photos I took while I was there. My brother works at Simon-Pearce blowing glass, and many of the pieces adorn my windowsill and cabinet shelves. I can remember touring the facility. I can remember my surprise when I opened a box he sent me and saw he had twisted the stem of one of the long-stem glasses just for fun. One year, he created stain-glass... and sent me one of those... which lives on my front window sill.

There is a blanket with a sleeping kitten on my wall over a loveseat. It takes me back in time when I lived in an old motor home... which wasn't insulated. I consulted with my sister... the one who lives in Washington... about how she stays warm in the cabin they live in. She had told me they put blankets and comforters up over the windows in the winter. I hung this blanket over the window and wall by the bed I slept in. But that isn't all. A kitten I adopted... Snowflake... lay down in front of it one day on the bed in front of the blanket... with the exact same expression as the kitten on the blanket. Even though she is long gone, I can still see her on the blanket hanging on my wall as if she is actually there.


There is a fairy holding a flower on one of my bookshelves. My mother didn't know I had it. But one year, she sent me another one from the same collection. Now there are two.

There is a small Disneyland castle on one of my shelves. Once upon a time, so many years ago, I did get to go to both Disneyland and Disney World. I don't remember which one I got the castle at, and it doesn't matter.

There is a tiny seagull sitting on top of a clear box that has small seashells and stones in it. I remember growing up on the coast of Massachusetts... going for walks on the beach across the street... searching for treasures to bring home with me.

Just before the lockdown, I had reconnected with a long-time friend who began taking me for long rides for sight-seeing, grocery shopping at stores an hour or more away, art galleries, and more. We collected some souvenirs to bring home. Each time I look at one of these souvenirs, I feel like I am in those places again.

Sometimes, when I look at something that doesn't have meaning for me anymore, I decide to donate it... so someone else can enjoy it. I hope they are looking at these things with a similar sense of gratitude.

Friday, July 9, 2021

Wisdom of the Ages

Lately, I've been contemplating how all my past painful life experiences are now useful. They are the mist through the branches of my mind. They are like a reference book I can check back with whenever someone tells me about one of THEIR experiences. And because this has been happening more frequently, and I've been getting more practice, I realized it doesn't feel as scary anymore.

But it hasn't always been this way. The memory of a bad experience would be like a monster in the closet that appeared in the night, giving me an adrenaline rush of fear. I think perhaps I was my own monster. 

It just so happens that I recently read a B.J. Daniels' suspense novel titled From the Shadows - which contributed to my thoughts here. The murderer tells his most recent almost victim that an evil spirit was making him kill people. In an earlier scene, a young girl calls this evil spirit a monster. When I read that, I thought about the monster living in the closet of my mind. 

I can shrink the monster down to the size of a bug. I can use one of my bug catchers to transport it outside. No, in general, I don't kill bugs other than mosquitos, gnats, and an occasional ant. Even a bug-size monster - like a scary hornet - can go live somewhere else.

My young caregivers often share with me what is going on in their relationships and circumstances. After all, we spend a lot of time together. I can relate to them because I had similar experiences. And since I am now so much happier, I can validate them and encourage them with the steps I took to get here. I am reminded of how far I've come and how much I've grown over the years.

At first, the memories that came up felt uncomfortable (monsters in the closet of my mind). I was tempted to return them to their previous subconscious containers. I didn't WANT to look back there. Now it is suddenly clicking that the intense discomfort is no longer there. If I hadn't had those experiences, there would be no 'trauma bonding' with other people.

Once I ALLOWED the memories to come up, I felt the healing effect of connecting with another person. Perhaps this is why support groups are so successful. Empathy sprouts from having a similar experience such as the loss of a baby, abuse, fear, a child who grows independent long before you're ready for them to be, and/or an accident that changes your life. 

Meanwhile, as the compassion I feel toward my charges expands, I am learning to have compassion toward myself. In addition to reading that other book, I've been listening to the Sounds True Self-Acceptance series. I had no idea how many other people were dealing with what I had been dealing with. In addition to hearing once again the benefit of ALL emotions, I am hearing of numerous ways to befriend and soothe my inner self-critic(s). I am learning to accept the choices I made in the past that had poor results. 

I'm the one who judged the experiences. I'm the one who concluded I was broken and a throw-away. But because I had not known very many people, I had not realized how common this was.

I tried my hardest to earn love from others who used my compassion, my time, my energy, my paychecks, my credit, my body, then abused and rejected me. I had concluded I was worthless.

THEY were the ones who felt worthless - undeserving of love. I was the empath who connected to that but made the wrong conclusions. They had so much emotional pain stored inside their hearts, minds, and spirits. I mistakenly believed that offering love could heal that. I mistakenly believed they were capable of loving ME and filling the emptiness I felt. 

The best advice I give now is that no one else can complete you. No one else can fill you with the love you need. You must grow your own personal inner garden - focusing on feeding your own personal need for love. It takes time, but the divine love within you begins to grow and spread throughout your body, mind, and memories. You can imagine that this love comes from God, Jesus, Buddha, or others, but ultimately, it must come from inside of YOU.

Compassion. Kindness. For self. For all aspects of self.

As I was working on this draft, I opened to Page 192 of Thriving as an Empath: 365 Days of Self-Care for Sensitive People. The title? Stop Beating Yourself Up. I laughed at the not so random divine validation of what I was writing. 

The following day, I found this on Facebook by Love Wide Open: We learn something from everyone who passes through our lives. Some lessons are painful. Some lessons are painless, and some lessons are priceless. 

Friday, June 11, 2021

Broken Wings

One may never know the source of their health issues until they begin to explore the spiritual aspects of their past lives to get a glimpse of what they brought into their current one.

The ceramic woman below originally had wings. I can't remember where I found it. In one of many moves, one of the wings broke off. I sadly broke the other one off as well. But I couldn’t help but wonder… could the nagging pain in my upper back as well as the uncomfortable pin pricking sensation be because I used to have wings that had broken off?


Ordinarily, one could shrug all this off as hogwash… except the details coincide with what other energy healers have told me along with personal discoveries.

Bryan is a psychic medium and healer. In an online event, even over Zoom, he made eye contact with me and said, “Use your clairaudience. It’s your strongest.” I had to look up what clairaudience means. When you have a skill like this one or any other one, it feels normal to you. I didn’t know I had this ‘gift.’ It’s the reason I heard that voice telepathically that told me to go to the laundromat back in 2010.

This led to a few sessions with Bryan that included a general reading, a reading to discover who my spirit guides were (along with their names), and what some of my past lives were. I was curious, not expecting anything significant. Then I was amazed by what he told me when he matter of factly answered my list of questions with what I knew to be true. One of the questions I asked was if he could see if I had wings that had broken off. Yes, he did. (I wondered about the Nephilim of the bible... was I one of their offspring?) He also said the wound could be healed… energetically. 
 
Bryan would be telling me one thing and suddenly mention something else - like, “your heart was broken by a person of authority” and “your stuck belief is you are broken” which led me to wonder, once again, about broken wings. Perhaps without my wings, I felt powerless.  

In a past life session to explore the root of chronic throat irritation, Bryan said I had taken a vow of silence in a past life. I contemplated the silence I climbed inside of for so much of this life.

I then went to see Ambika and ask her about chronic throat irritation - a physical reason for it. Instead, she asked, “Would you like to explore the emotions behind this issue?”

“Sure, why not?”

Ambika has a whole list of talents and skills she acquired over the years, including ThetaHealing®. In this particular session, she said I had to swallow a lot of stuff (stress and abuse) in my life… and in past lives as well. Then she asked me if I can remember ever being strangled. No, I couldn’t… but the following day, I remembered feeling a sense of terror as I witnessed my father strangling my little brother in one of his temper flares. My mother did get him to let go, and when he realized how close he came to killing his child, he never did anything like that again. But I had to ‘swallow’ the experience just like I ‘swallowed’ so many other experiences. There was no one to talk to about it. I'm sure I concluded that if he did it to my brother, he could do it to me. Therefore, I am not safe. It's interesting that I developed intestinal pain from what was diagnosed as anxiety after that. 

As a child, I wasn’t allowed to speak up about anything and did, indeed, swallow it all… stuffing it down deep into my body. I've learned this is what bodies do to protect you. I continued to swallow many other situations such as abusive partners, bosses, medical procedures, and more.

I then had an additional session with Ambika to dig deeper. I was surprised when she picked up past lives that included some of what Bryan had told me. In the digging process, I identified the belief that I am a throw-a-way… in addition to the one that I am broken. This was followed by a ThetaHealing® session to pull these beliefs and replace them with new ones. 

Historically, people were absolutely brutal… especially to women... and unfortunately, some of this still exists today. Many of us believed we had no choice but to take the abuse... that we deserved the abuse. I thought about the wings of the ceramic woman I threw away. Maybe I should have kept them in a safe place.

I don’t discount three scenarios or messages in a row with similar information. Add a fourth scenario that happened just after readings from both Bryan and Ambika: the cat that showed up that had been attacked by something that left puncture wounds on his throat… resulting in an abscess that suffocated him. I didn’t see this as a random event. I have often felt like I was suffocating.

But this isn’t the end of the story. Once core beliefs and roots to illness and chronic pain are identified and brought to the surface, the next step is to learn the skills to manage them, transform them, and become empowered. One must learn to be their own superhero. I am working on it.

Saturday, June 5, 2021

D.E.A.D.

I just saw in the news that B.J. Thomas, one of my favorite musical artists, is dead at age 78. I don't know about you, but I don't like how when people pass on, they are declared DEAD. They passed away. Dead at age whatever sounds so final. So blunt. So insensitive. I prefer other words for dead such as: passed away, departed, or deceased... of which passed away or departed would be preferable to me. Those who have passed away or departed remain alive in our hearts, minds, and memories... therefore, they have not perished, they have departed... on a spiritual journey... and may we meet up with them again someday. I suppose it depends on your religious and spiritual beliefs.

Of course, there is shock, disbelief, and grief to process... especially when the passing is unexpected and they are no longer physically here to be with you or talk to you. Their passing may leave you alone and isolated. But since I rarely saw or talked to my deceased family members anyway, they still feel alive to me. I can feel my father and my brother whenever I think about them. And sometimes I can 'hear' their words when I am silent.

It was more difficult losing pets as I often felt powerless to save them. No one likes to feel powerless. It's an emotional trauma that can stick with you permanently. I wasn't there when Snowflake ran off and got hit by a car when she was a year old. I wasn't there when Poco got electrocuted while running from her overpowering brother when she was four years old. I wasn't there when Little Mama got impaled with something when she was four years old. It took a year for me to adjust after each of these occurrences. I also wrote stories about them to keep them alive in my memories. 

I found myself making up acronyms:

DEAD            Decided to End a physical life and become an Angel in Disguise.
DEAD            Detached from Earth And Disengaged.
DEAD            Distinguished, Enthusiastic, Animated, and Departed.
DEAD            Deported to the Energetic realm... the Afterlife of open Doors.


I love this Microsoft Windows photo. I feel like I am drawn into the divine light of eternity... that the window to the divine is always open. I can go in just by closing my eyes. When I 'depart,' this is where I am going. I hope no one declares me as 'dead' at age whatever. I'll live on in your hearts, minds, memories... and in all the books, letters, and newsletters I wrote. I'll be a once upon a time there lived a person named Renee... Latin for re-born. 

In this lifetime, I've been re-born each time I uncovered another layer to the parts of me I had killed off due to the inability to deal with the emotional components of trauma. I am discovering the origins of my deciding I am not safe in either my life or my body. Thus, here's another acronym:

DEAD: Decipher underlying beliefs, Engage in new aspects of life, find Antidotes to suppressed emotions, and Declare your intention to rise above and beyond it all.

The next job I apply for will be Guardian Angel for both humans and critters. In the meantime, I can pass on the wisdom I gain to someone who needs it.

And there's nothing like the soul connection I feel when I gaze into the eyes of a cat, squirrel, deer, or other animal... as though we recognize each other and know who we REALLY are.

Monday, May 31, 2021

Pieces of My Heart


Dried rosebuds... representing pieces of my heart... collected over the years... received from precious friends.

Each time I received some roses in a vase of flowers, I saved the buds. If I had to move and toss them, I'd start over again to collect more.

Memories... people I've known who have come and gone, leaving traces of their hearts with mine. 

An infant son once taught me what unconditional love felt like... before he transformed through stages of his own life to become a parent himself.

In order to experience loss, one must endure times of intense love. And I don't think anyone ever really gets over empty nest syndrome. 

However, when I needed additional care from home health attendants, new rosebuds arrived I never knew were possible. I suddenly had more 'children' to love.

One article I read says it takes 242,000 rose petals to distill approximately 5 mL of rose oil. I wonder how many rose petals are in a single bud. I don't want to take any of mine apart to count. I have rose bushes growing out in front of my apartment, but I don't want to take any of them apart either. In my mind, it's a symbolic thing.

I think I must have experienced 242,000 experiences that formed my heart. Thus, I collect rosebuds in a heart-shaped glass bowl to symbolize this.

And now it is the end of Memorial Day. After seeing a lot of social media posts, I know many of my friends and cousins are reminiscing about rosebuds of their own.

Here's a rosebud for you.

Friday, May 21, 2021

Our Minds

Image: When the creek rose in 2019.

At the beginning of the week, I wanted to show someone a contract signed by myself and management regarding the TNR (trap, neuter, release) program for the small group of cats I care for. I couldn't find it. HOW CAN I NOT FIND IT? It's supposed to be filed in the TNR folder. I am supposed to file every piece of paper in the correct place. I caught my old sabotaging inner voice saying... "If you filed this one in the wrong place, what else did you file in the wrong place? What if you file something else in the wrong place?"

The next thing I knew, I was pulling out file folders, one at a time, one day at a time, looking through them, and asking... "Why am I keeping this? And this? And that?" And I started a pile of all the pieces of paper I no longer needed along with manilla filing folders I didn't need to reuse. Many of these pieces of paper only had one line underlined (think travel and finance). 

The next thought that popped into my head was Google Docs! Google Sheets! I can create documents with all this information instead of saving all this paper. In addition to all the Google Docs I already had, I created one for all my travel information and history. Yes, I had saved all my airline and amtrak tickets as well as itineraries, notes, and articles.

Just like I obsessively work on a jigsaw puzzle until two in the morning until every last piece is in its place, I found myself going through every sheet of paper... in my whole filing cabinet. But I must tell you that I recently completed a volunteer project that included doing the same thing for four crates of file folders full of paper. You could say I got hooked... although I still haven't located the piece of paper I was searching for. 😞

I got to a folder with writing projects. I found two pages from a journal I kept when I was a teenager... that included poetry I was writing. I had published most of my poetry in my two poetry books, but I evidently missed these. 

Our Minds. I was 17 when I asked all these questions. I am now 65. I can't comprehend being 17... before I read all the books I have read... listened to all the webinars and videos I listened to... took all the classes I took... discovered all the wise souls I discovered on social media... met all the people I have met and gotten to know... to know to ask the questions I asked to begin with. And all these years, I have been seeking the answers to them all. 

(I originally wrote the following in multiple lines as poetry vs the prose it is here.)

Our Minds

A young mind is as changeable as the weather, as fluttered as a bird learning to fly, as open as the air, as deep as the sea. What does a young mind become in days gone by? Does it become weary with age, hardened by time, or frozen in its ways? Were we made to understand or to accept, listen or be heard, sacrifice or save? What is in a young mind? Is it young forever? What lives in a young heart? Were we meant to be taught or to learn, fight or surrender, come together or apart? What do we do with our love, with loneliness and hate? When do we reach the top of the mountain so we can start down again and be happy with what we’ve found? When is it too late?
 

No wonder I didn't have any friends. I couldn't find anyone who could connect to my thoughts. I didn't know anyone I could share philosophical ideas with. I was a 65-year-old 17-year-old. Imagine what life could have been like if I found a community of poets back then. I've met many young poets who have minds like I did... and still do. 

I am going to attempt to answer my own 17-year-old questions... as if I am talking to my younger self. 

What does a young mind become in days gone by? Does it become weary with age, hardened by time, or frozen in its ways? I don't know. I am the age I am and every age I ever was. There were times when my mind was weary due to illness, brain cells destroyed by prescription medications, times when my mind was hardened due to difficult experiences, and the part that froze were based on conclusions I made that I eventually found out weren't necessarily true... which led to my challenging those conclusions. Question everything. Keep a journal.

Were we made to understand or to accept, listen or be heard, sacrifice or save? All of these. Life gets complicated. I wish I was taught these concepts when I was in school instead of history, science, and geography.

What is in a young mind? Is it young forever? It is apparently ever-changing depending on the people we spend time with and the stages of life we are in. My mother is now 90... childlike with dementia. I pray I don't end up that way. And then I question... if I pray I don't end up that way, am I making judgments about how she is? I haven't been able to see her as my mother since this happened to her ten years ago. She is a sweet, very young child.... one who can also have tantrums when she is tired or hungry. She has people taking care of her. I doubt anyone would be taking care of me. The health care agency I have now is already short-handed. The media published recent articles on elder abuse and neglect awareness. So to ramble on, this points out to me that I have a fear of being alone and isolated when I am old. I've already survived many years of being alone and isolated so I know what that is like. I never want to experience that again. And like many other people, fear of the unknown can get to you. OK. Back to the present moment.

What lives in a young heart? Were we meant to be taught or to learn, I wasn't interested in being taught what I wasn't interested in learning. I enjoyed seeking out what I was curious about and learning at my own pace. I wish I had been home-schooled and didn't have to deal with the discomfort of public school. 

fight or surrender, Sadly, I surrendered. I didn't know I had the right to fight. I didn't know how to fight. I internalized my need to fight which resulted in autoimmune reactions. I am learning to be assertive... but it takes an adrenaline rush of fight or flight each time I take assertive action. I want some kind of magic to have the ability to just plain be assertive without the fear and adrenaline rush. Or otherwise... I want a personal bodyguard to do this for me.

come together or apart? Another complicated question to answer. Sadly, with each attempt at coming together, I mostly came apart... although life has been much more stable for the last few years. I have since learned about introverts vs extroverts (extroverts like to come together and introverts prefer to stay apart), Myers-Briggs personality types (some personality types love to be around people and some don't), DISC personality types (same as the one before), being an empath (I was unknowingly coming together with everyone I was surrounded with as well as everyone they were surrounded with and had to learn the art of recognizing when this was happening, centering, and coming back into myself... separate from everyone else. Apart.)

What do we do with our love, with loneliness and hate? I have read a lot of books on this subject. I sought love in all the wrong places... outside of myself... instead of looking within... which resulted in loneliness because no one outside of you can make you feel loved if you don't love yourself... and the hate is a natural consequence of feeling abandoned and abused by others who weren't capable of loving you because they don't love themselves. 

When do we reach the top of the mountain so we can start down again and be happy with what we’ve found? I don't know about you, but there was always another mountain to climb. Happiness was fleeting... a sense of excitement about a new discovery... only to fade away until I found the next treasure, person, or situation that would make me happy. Of course, now I have learned this is normal for my personality type.

When is it too late? Mmmm... maybe it is never too late. This is a topic for lots of philosophical discussions. There are moments I wish I could go back in time and say or do something different. What would have happened if I did? Would my life have taken a completely different path? In some cases, when I thought it was too late, I was surprised to find out it was not... so it depends on the situation... like growing lots of new brain cells after I thought they were permanently damaged and gone... and being able to walk again after five years of not... and watching the plants I thought had died coming back to life in the spring. What if "too late" is just an illusion? It's all in OUR MINDS.

Friday, March 19, 2021

Volunteer


I've always felt the need to have a purpose. During times I had none or was disconnected, I would get depressed and sometimes suicidal. Here are additional thoughts on the topic. In the early morning hours, I often scroll through social media and read emails. Oftentimes, I note connections and synchronicities in what I am thinking about and what shows up in my feed.

Amy Penny aka The Healer Chick recently posted this YouTube video by Dolores Cannon titled The Three Waves of Volunteers. She also has a book with the same title. Something clicked, and I felt the sense of excitement in discovering what I came to earth to do. Even if it's only my imagination, it doesn't matter. The discovery propels me to yet another level of understanding.

I came here as a volunteer. For what? To bring love where there is darkness and despair. This is an additional puzzle piece to post-traumatic growth. I'd been gathering clues relating to birth trauma, childhood trauma, and the chain of trauma that continued throughout my life which apparently affected my immune system and locked my nervous system into freeze.

I had also just recently seen information by Robert Schwartz about living according to the virtues you decided to work on before you incarnated... an additional puzzle piece to post-traumatic growth. This is his book on Amazon which I haven't read yet.

If I volunteered to bring love into the family I was born into, no wonder I changed my mind when I got here. It turned out to be much more difficult than I thought it would be. Dolores talked about this part. In changing my mind, I froze, rebelled, withdrew, didn't want to stay here, and became depressed… thinking it was much more than I could handle… then concluded that I failed. With a sense of failure, I went out into the world attracting similar situations because I didn't know any different. 

Perhaps it wasn't about the traumatic experiences themselves after all. And if it wasn't, if there is no such thing as failing, just another opportunity to learn what works by eliminating something else that doesn't, can you see where I am heading? Thomas Edison failed 1,000 times before he invented the lightbulb.

When I collapsed in 1999 and ended up on permanent disability, I gave up on love. When I collapsed in 2010, once again I gave up on love. I drowned in the sensation of feeling abandoned and worthless. Every so often, a supernatural event would occur to remind me I had spiritual helpers, but I didn't know they were always there but not allowed to interfere without your request unless it was an emergency.

Here I am today, back to volunteering. I recently took on another assignment. Relax, I told myself. Pace yourself. I don't have to do it all today.

As I continue my quest for post-traumatic growth, studying and drinking up the contents of all things relating to psychology self-help style, another layer was revealed to me as to why people feel compelled to confide in me. Energetically, they know I am a volunteer.

In seeking recovery from chronic depression (and grief), one thing that is recommended is to volunteer for a worthy cause. I struggled with this one due to physical limitations. But eventually, I found plenty to volunteer for. Plenty. So much so, as a super achiever, I burned myself out. 

I quit volunteering for a while but soon new projects found their way to me. I must be a volunteer magnet. I'd easily spend hours working on something that someone else may have completed in ten minutes. I had a steady disability income, although not enough for everything I wanted in life (like holistic medicine and psychology), so I volunteered to use my computer skills to do bookkeeping and secretarial skills for local nonprofits. It was technical work. I could detach emotionally while I stayed busy. My self-worth was dependent on completing tasks… for other people.

Volunteer. When I got back on the Community Attendant Service (CAS) program in August 2019, I found myself volunteering to mentor beautiful young women who were sent to be my helpers. At first, I felt like this was a part-time job. I had to create a task list for them, schedule the time, be up and ready for their arrival whether I felt up to it or not. I got to practice a lot of what I had been learning. It took a while before I realized why they (and others) felt compelled to share their emotional experiences and challenges with me.

Another layer to all of this was being told I am a Heyoka empath. I blend and merge with other people and often don't know that much of what I feel isn't mine. It is others. Which circles back around to pre-birth… in the womb… absorbing the emotions of the parents I volunteered to bring love to… in the midst of their acting out their personal wounded, traumatized inner children.

Volunteer. I compensated for my desire to volunteer by joining clubs and non-profit organizations, volunteering to be their secretary, social media admin, public relations person, and/or bookkeeper. I volunteered to help people get their stories/books published. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I ended up volunteering to study all the healing modalities I'd need to improve my personal health because I couldn't afford to pay others for these services.

Volunteer. As I circle back around into my original plan to bring love into my family, COVID brought the opportunity for my family members to learn how to use video conferencing technology. Because I had to learn how to use it myself, I decided to try getting my remaining family members connected via Zoom. It's been a wonderful reunion and success but also has its challenges. I often feel just as drained after a video visit as I do if I had visited in person. I want the visits to be uplifting but my natural tendency as a human emotional vacuum cleaner is to absorb all the uncomfortable emotions and leave behind love. Then I have to figure out how to empty my vacuum cleaner bag… but first, I'd have to figure out that it is full.

I like this newly inspired concept of being a human emotional vacuum cleaner. Just like spoon theory is a concept of available energy, I can determine how big my vacuum cleaner bag (or container) is… and remember to dump it out regularly. Before it gets so full it bursts. Before my little bucket overflows.

Expansion. The sensation of expanding beyond my physical body when I close my eyes… expanding to blend in with universal life energy… and universal love… expanding beyond my storytelling mind, toxic thoughts, and their resulting emotions. Doing this without alcohol or drugs. Wouldn't it be nice to become addicted to expansion? I've been reading you can be addicted to toxic thoughts.

P.S. I decided the bus I am going to use in the bus analogy (continued from my last post) would be a yellow school bus. The thoughts that often hop on board are unruly children.


 
I must be their competent bus driver and pay attention to the road. Let the bus monitor deal with the children.

According to ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy), one cannot change toxic thoughts or make them go away. You must accept them and take them for a ride. Maybe at some point, I can upgrade to driving a luxurious tour bus. But for now, I must nurture my inner child and the inner children of the people who are in my life.


After all, I volunteered to love. Including myself.

In the meantime, it is vital for my survival (and yours) to establish boundaries. Use a word such as regardless to restate your boundary once you figure out what it is when someone you establish a boundary with attempts to climb your castle wall to invade your space.

Yes, I like this analogy, too. The ultimate fairy tale always has a castle. Some get locked in a tower (depression) for years before they are rescued. But some will die there alone. Some live in dilapidated filthy castles, imprisoned in their minds, and don't allow anyone into their space. Some keep their castles spotless, and invite people to fancy balls. Then after everyone leaves, they retreat into their personal gloom. Some castles have lots of rooms for guests. Who are these guests? Your thoughts, of course.

Perhaps no one is who you think they are… not even you. Have you ever noticed a sense of transformation when you let go of false beliefs and create new ones? It is a possibility for everyone…

Here's to synchronicity. After I wrote this early this morning, I opened Judith Orloff's book Thriving As An Empath to March 19… setting your intention:

I will be ready for renewal. I will anticipate spring with excitement and embrace the ongoing transformation of my mind, body, and spirit.