With Source as My Witness...

Now that I have given myself permission to write, having been given the space and time in which to do it, I am finding that I am overflowing with words, bleeding them, sweating them, blowing my nose with them. They are coming from everywhere and flowing through me. Not only have I posted (with this one) 4 entries in less than 24 hours, I have also started 3 long posts in a separate word document and made notes for a few others in my journal. I've also written at least 10 pages in my journal.

I have always wanted to be a writer. This is a very important part of my overall vision for myself and my life. Up until now, it seemed... what would I have to say?? Who would want to listen to me? How could my words affect anybody? The thought of writing was beyond intimidating because I could never imagine what it was I would write about, how to organize it, how to put it together, how to carry it through. Lately, since Christmas, I've been secretly nurturing the idea of earning my living from my blog. So ironic that it was my old blog that forced my hand and started to move me away from my old job.

At Christmas time, I spent some time working on my goals and visions for my life, and I established without question that the single most important aspect of my life was my job. It was the slab and foundation that held up the pyramid of my existence. It was also the all-consuming tyrant that sucked up all of my existence. I allowed it to. I felt it was right. But my job consumed me until there was nothing left.

I had an energy healing yesterday, which was amazing. He found so many cords and attachments and people from my work who were grounding through me - at least 30-40 people. My own energy was squashed and depleted and covered up. And I did this. I did it by allowing my work to be more important than myself.

And here's how I did that: I made a simple mistake, a mistake so many of us make (ironic that I made the mistake working in a supposedly "spiritual" environment). I forgot that God is my Source, and instead I made source my god. I sacrificed and gave all to what I mistakenly and foolishly thought was the origin of my source, my resource, and my means of survival. Establishing my job as my foundation was my first error. My job is not my means of survival - God (or whatever you like to call the Divine IT) is my means of survival. What's more, it's only through our connection to God that we EVER can THRIVE. A job may provide me with enough to survive, but it will always require me to chase it, to work for it. God is my Source, and through Source I thrive. So therefore, God must be my foundation. I must start and end with God, and then I will never have to chase anything. Doesn't mean I'll be rich, doesn't mean I'll never get sick, doesn't mean I'll never make another big, dumb, stupid mistake. It just means: God is my Source, and through Source I thrive.

I made source (small s, human-scale crap) my god (small g, human-scale idols and icons). I worshiped my job, and I looked to my job to support me - to bolster my ego (human-scale crap), to satisfy my creative longings. I wanted everybody there to think I was so good, so strong, so spiritual, so creative, so beautiful. When we turn to human-scale crap to support us - it can't handle it. One small 2x4 cannot support a whole house made of 2x4's, if you know what I mean. And when we do this, we put on a mask and layers and layers of identity that say "I am this, I am this, I am this," all of which are false, and yet when we take off those layers we see that we actually do look exactly the way we were trying to present ourselves. We really are that beautiful, that good, that strong, that spiritual, that creative. It's like putting layer upon layer upon layer of "natural skin" makeup on top of already flawless, perfect skin. There is no point. So I turned to my job for all my validation, and in that process allowed myself to fall further and further away from my awareness of God and away from my awareness of myself.

So with God as my witness, and with God as my Source, I let these words flow. Through me, not from me. I'm just the channel, at best.

The Blessings of Really Bad Things

I'm troubled, really troubled, by how quickly I am feeling absolutely wonderful about what has happened. How can I have done something SO STUPID, so thoughtless, so careless, have caused pain to people I truly care about, and put myself on the teetering edge of voluntarily losing my job during the worst economy ever (at the very least I have already altered my job and reduced my income) - and yet feel liberated, free, expansive and surrounded by possibility? Because I do!

I woke up this morning feeling fantastic. Last night I made arrangements with a woman I've always admired to the point of envied (she's so beautiful) to work with her and her partner, helping them out with their business which involves floral design. I'm going to learn flower arranging!!! She was so excited that I want to work with them, and I'm so excited to learn something new.

The blessings of really bad things are starting to be made known.

What the hell is a "Salted Foot?"

The "salted foot" thing is a joke that came about the night of the Great Blog Disaster. A very beloved friend came over to sit with me and while commiserating about how badly, how truly badly i had messed up, and trying to make sense of the whole thing - which was so out of character, such a desperate cry for help - she asked me if I wanted salt to put on that foot I had wedged in my mouth. I don't remember now specifically if she actually said something to the effect of "www.saltedfoot.com" or not, but I was immediately and completely struck. My old blog had a very boring, stupid name, and suddenly I was being handed The Salted Foot. When you've stuck your foot in your mouth, d'ya want salt on it, or would you prefer it plain??? This blog is a rant, a rave, a free-form spiritual exploration, and as such, it's going to be full of moments when I just stick my foot in my mouth and bite down hard. I don't mind.

That's why it's anonymous, unless of course I've invited you here, in which case you know me to a degree. Cyber friends, welcome. The last blog was basically "broken in to" by someone who I don't particularly like, and who doesn't particularly like me, who doesn't follow any of the aspects of my lifestyle, and who I did not (at least not in my memory) give my blog address to. I remember giving it to friends, and I did not count this person as a friend. Anyway. I have no idea why this person was even bothering to read my blog, unless there was malice in their intent, watching and waiting for the moment when I would say something wrong. And I did! I'm so glad I made it worth his/her wait. It must have been terrifically boring in the meantime.

But over here on the left, I'm so happy to see my girls, BadAsh and Sarah! I'm so honored that you have chosen to follow my new blog, even though it might not talk much about our area of common interest that brought us together - I'll save most of that for our online community, and may start another blog about it. We'll see. But it does make the title funnier, don't you think? (there's an inside joke there.)

You may call me Ishmael...

Actually, you may call me anything you damn well please. Who I actually am is immaterial. I am Seeker, Heathen, Sinner, Saint, Virgin, Whore. In other words - just other divinely human, humanly divine PERSON attempting to make sense of the movie I'm watching that I like to call "MY LIFE."

I had a blog once. It was a good blog. It meant a lot to me, but I abused it. I used it to track a personal journey, including many lifestyle options, issues and changes. And I abused it, under-estimating the power of the blog. I assumed that no one read it, that the blog and I had our own little thing going. Oh, maybe occasionally someone would stumble across it, someone searching for some keywords in my blog, but for the most part, nah. Just me and my blog, and maybe a few random strangers, occasionally a friend. So I made the mistake of assuming anonymity, and I made the mistake of being too descriptive. I used my blog to rant and rave about people near (and some dear) to me, and they found me, and they found themselves, and they weren't happy about it. Needless to say. And the blog, once my dear friend, rose up and bit me like a rabid dog and I had to put it out of its misery. The blog is dead; long live the blog.

I regret it. I really do. If I could go back in time, I would never have written that post, or I would have written it without the descriptions and kept it neutral. But I DID write it, I DID post it, and I DO have to suffer the repercussions. People are hurt, by my unwilling hand. I know that they are doing the best they can do to cope with and heal their own issues, and I had no right whatsoever to post anything about their struggles. That they read it is sad and tragic; had they not, it would have all blown over and things would have continued on.

But the truth is: I DIDN'T WANT IT TO CONTINUE ON. I was at my wit's end. I was looking for catharsis - not at anyone's expense, I wasn't laughing at people, I was simply relaying my experience and my opinions, just like I'm doing now. But I had reached a point in my own journey where I simply could not continue with things as they were, I was fantasizing of a different life, and I could not see an escape route. The tension was mounting, and I was feeling the push, that pressure of things about to change, but not knowing where the change was coming from, or who it was going to effect, or how.

I've always been a little intuitive. I've always been able to feel the imminent changes coming, even when I have had no vocabulary to describe them. So I felt this storm coming, could taste it like tinfoil. I had written the blog almost a full week earlier. No one had seen it, no one had read it that I was aware of. Then, all of a sudden, I received an emergency phone call with the demand to delete the post immediately. So I did. And then things began seriously to shift.

Within a few short hours, I went from my "happy" life - "I'm happy with this, seriously I am! I love it!" said through clenched teeth and ragged with exhaustion, to being launched into the unknown and unknowable. Will I be invited back into my "happy" life, or will I get to continue this story from another place?

As much of a total, utter human fuck-up as it was, I feel like this mistake was Divinely Guided. The truths that were told - maybe it wasn't my business to tell them, but that doesn't make them any less true. And the path that it is leading me on is my perfect path. And the path that it is leading the others on is their perfect path. That is all I know. Divinely Guided, and a total human fuck-up, all at the same time. I have to suffer the human repercussions, because that is how we humans work, and I am taking those punishments willingly. I beleive my Spirit orchestrated this move to operate so smoothly to give me what I so desperately needed: rest, sunshine, room to breathe, and a chance to re-assess where my life had taken me. And it has given the other people a chance to function without me. It may well be that their lives are much better off without me. Or not. It doesn't matter. On a human level, looking at this small picture of the future ahead of me, it's really scary. What will I do, how will I survive? But I trust and I have faith that I will be taken care of.

Please do not misunderstand: I am deeply, deeply sorry for the hurt I have caused people. The internet is NOT YOUR JOURNAL. Do not think it is. Despite my efforts to disguise by not using names or genders, too many people knew who my old blog belonged to, too many people were able to recognize themselves. Would it stand up in a court of law? I don't know, don't want to know. My first amendment rights are not going to be tested in this situation if I can help it. And as I've wandered around today, I have continued getting the same message: WRITE. Do not be afraid to write. Writing is a gift that I have been given that I have always been afraid to use, afraid of leaning on for my survival. And now I am hearing that the gift that pulled me away from shore is the gift that will save me if I just keep using it. Don't be afraid of the boat or the current, don't be afraid to paddle.