There Once Was A Girl

Hey Kel,

You died one week ago today. One week. How can this be when it feels like only seconds have passed? I gave your eulogy. I said something funny and made people laugh just like you asked me too. Do you have any idea how hard that was? I think you probably do. It was you getting the last laugh on me, wasn’t it? It took me days to write and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite. I finally deleted the whole damn thing the night before your funeral and went to Cayucos Tavern at midnight. I drank way too much and sang Rolling Stones songs way too loud. Can you believe that? Me, getting soused until 2a.m. and making a fool of myself in public. How unlike me, right?  The next morning, I sat in bed and wrote, bawling my head off the entire time. Did you hear me yelling at you? How could you be so selfish and leave me? How could I be so selfish and want you to stay?

Anyway, here it is. I mean, just in case you missed it.

 

The first time I met Kelly, she was 10 days old and I was 1100 days old and Char was just old. My mom came home from the hospital carrying this pink blanket that she laid on her bed and I thought surely I was finally getting that monkey I wanted. I remember lying on my parent’s bed, disappointed for a moment that she wasn’t a monkey but kissing Kelly’s forehead again and again, smelling the sweetness of her skin. She smelled like sugar cookies to me.

 

I loved my baby sister. We had the best times together. Like the first time our mom left us home alone and Kelly and I decided to build a fort in the living room. The living room we weren’t allowed to play in because it was reserved for company. The living room with the brand new Mediterranean, putrid green furniture. The living room with the giant naked angel lamp. Yeah, that living room. As soon as our mother’s car was half way out the drive, Kel and I ran to the garage and got a can of my dad’s infamous twist and tie. Back in the house we strung that miraculous twirly green wired string from the giant bulbous putrid green Mediterranean lamp on one side of the room all the way over to the giant naked angel lamp on the other side of the room. Then off we ran to our bedroom, grabbed our bedspreads off our beds and flew to the living room squealing with anticipation. This was gonna be freakin awesome. As we flung our bedspreads over the twist and tie, the two lamps hurled themselves at us at something like a million miles an hour. I’m pretty sure I heard the angel screaming.

 

As teenagers, Kelly and I went different directions. My life goal was to get married and quickly over-populate the world. Kelly’s goal was to rule the world. She started at KFC and ended up in one of Corporate America’s corner offices. It was downright freaky watching her morph into our dad, Charles Casas.  I mean she had the business suits, the Cadillac and minions. I remember her boss buying her a black leather jacket one Christmas. It was beautiful. I especially liked the writing on the back of it: The Wicked Witch. It’s what I had called Kelly for years. I felt jealous many a day at her life. I still didn’t have a monkey and she had flying monkeys. The truth was, those monkeys loved her. I think a lot of them idolized her. She deserved everything she achieved. She did it the old fashioned way. She earned it.

 

As adults, Kelly and I drifted apart for a minute. We didn’t understand each other very well. Then the first brain tumor happened and nothing else mattered. Our differences didn’t matter, our life choices didn’t matter, our faith or lack thereof didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered. We were in it to win it. Together. Kelly and every single person she loved and who loved her. We were in it to win it.

 

For years I wrote about Kelly’s journey. Some people were amused. Some people were offended. I was told more than once that I was inappropriate, disrespectful and rude. I made fun of my dying sister’s circumstances. She was the butt of my jokes. I posted pictures of her with really bad hospital hair. I put our private conversations out there for the world to read. There was only one reader I ever wrote for though. Kelly. She told me from the beginning I was not allowed to cry. Too many people were crying over her life and it made her sad. She asked me to write about her life. She told me I had to be funny. The best days ever for me were hearing Kelly laugh. That and hearing her call me a moron. Moron meant I had hit a home run for her. Like not that long ago, she was really sad. And she was worried about me. She asked me where I saw myself in ten years if I didn’t make some changes.

 

“Well, Kel, ten years from now I believe I will be in the poor house, jail or a convent. It’s hard to decide which way to go.”

 

That got a “moron” from her.

 

Kelly’s last words to me were, “Say something funny.” She said it twice so I made fun of her hair. Yeah, right there in the hospital as my sister lay dying, I made fun of her. A few nights after Kelly was gone, I realized she was talking about today. She was worried about all of us. She wanted us to laugh.

 

In closing, I want to say thank you.

 

Thank you Theresa for being the one Kelly would save if we were all on a sinking ship with only two life vests. We love you.

 

Thank you Rachel for loving and caring for my little sister through thick and thin and I am not talking about her weight fluctuations. We love you.

 

Thank you Cher. Thank you. For cooking. For cleaning. For yelling at Kelly to get off her ass and walk. For laughing with me until we cried and crying until we laughed. For sleeping with Kelly when she was afraid and sleeping with me when my heart was broken. Thank God for women like you that sleep around. You’re an angel and I love you.

 

Thank you Char and Debi, for still being alive. I love you both. Char, I promise to let you put makeup on me and do my hair. You can even take me shopping now and then. I promise to pretend I like it. Deb, I promise to call you and talk about Char behind her back like little sisters do. We can laugh and giggle at how old she is. It’ll be fun. I promise.

 

To Kelly’s minions, past and present. Thank you for loving her, encouraging her, writing and emailing. Calling and visiting. Thank you to “her girls”. Karen, Gina, Denise, Nicole, Pam and all the rest of y’all for all the weekends. She dreaded you seeing her before you got there and then did nothing but talk about what a great time she had with you. How much you did for her, physically, spiritually and emotionally.

 

To our family……there are just too many of us to name but I can honestly say, Kelly loved every single Walter/Casas family member. She loved you. 

 

And finally, David…..Thank you. I know it wasn’t easy. I know how hard she could be on you. I also know how much she loved you. I thought it was totally gross when she told me she was dating a tattooed biker. Then I got to know you. I still think you’re gross but not because you’re a tattooed biker, just because you’re a guy. We love you David. Remember…..we‘re still a part of your posse…..or gang…..or pack……or whatever it is you people call it.

 

 

So there it is. Did I do ok, Kel? I made people laugh. That’s what you wanted, right? I think that’s all I have to say to you for now. In truth, I am not speaking to you today. I am really angry with you. So is Char. That’s right, we are talking about you behind your back. Deal with it!

 

                                       Love,

 

                                            Me

 

A Mother's Love

Every year, during the first weekend in August, tens of thousands of Vietnamese-Americans descend on the small town of Carthage, Missouri to honor the Virgin Mary for helping Vietnamese boat refugees safely reach the United States more than thirty-five years earlier.

One of those refugees was Michael Vu, who now lives in Dallas, Texas. He was “eight or nine years old” when he fled Vietnam with his family. “My dad orchestrated our escape. My oldest brother left first, trying to go before us and prepare for us. His name was Vu Quang Thanh and unfortunately the China Sea took his life. He was on a boat with about 100 people, and they all perished, they were never found. His name is on the wall in the Prayer Garden. My dad is still looking for him, still hopes to find him, but I believe he’s dead.” Michael Vu shared this story while searching for his brother’s name among thousands of others on plaques in the Prayer Garden.

“When the priests here at the Carthage Congregation say daily mass, they pray for these names in this Prayer Garden. They are both the dead and the living. People who need prayer in their lives. For people still in Vietnam who live under hardship, who weren’t fortunate enough to be able to come here. This is the best place to come and pray for them. Family members gather here every year and pray for one another,” Michael said.

The Congregation of the Mother Co-Redemptrix organizes and hosts the gathering each year on their grounds in Carthage for one simple reason: the Congregation shares the same harrowing story as do the attendees. In Vietnam in 1975, under orders from their superior, this group of priests and brothers jumped into boats and headed out into the open sea. In the midst of chaos and gunfire, all the members of the Congregation of the Mother Co-Redemptrix escaped and eventually made it safely to the shores of the United States.

Though members of the Congregation were scattered in refugee camps and on military bases, they were eventually reunited on an un-used seminary campus in Carthage, Missouri. In 1977, a couple of hundred Vietnamese from nearby cities like Kansas City, St. Louis and Springfield gathered on the seminary campus in Carthage for a day of recollection to express devotion to the Virgin Mary. The numbers began doubling each year, until now approximately 70,000 Vietnamese-Americans make the pilgrimage to Carthage to honor the Virgin Mary along with the Congregation.

“We have a very strong devotion to the Virgin Mary,” Michael Vu agreed. “As we left Vietnam, we prayed to Mary to take care of us. We had a priest on our boat. We had two boats of people. There was a curfew in Vietnam, so we left at dawn. As we left, sirens started going off. North Vietnamese soldiers stopped us. There were about 60 to 70 children below, including me. The soldiers came aboard and questioned us. The priest said, “We’re hungry, and we’re going fishing.” There were fishing nets on the boat. The soldiers let us leave. We believe that praying to the Virgin Mary helped us escape Vietnam. Everyone on the boat believes it was a miracle we escaped. We arrived in Huntington Beach, CA We moved to Wichita Falls TX and we heard about Marian Days there. We felt like we had to go. We go every year. We’ve never stopped. We will definitely be here as long as they have it. It renews our spiritual life. Everyone who comes here has the same unity in their heart, one goal, devotion to Mary. It helps us through the year. It has helped us adjust here in the U.S. We didn’t know anyone, we didn’t know English. There are seven surviving brothers and two sisters in our family, and every one of us received a four-year college degree in the U.S., except for the youngest son who has Down Syndrome.”

Over time, “Marian Days” has become a cultural event attracting parishes, families, and communities from all over the United States. Included in the festivities are Vietnamese food, both traditional and contemporary music, open-air confessions and masses on sloping lawns, speakers scheduled over several days, and a procession through the town with a statue of Our Lady of Fatima. And although the Congregation hosts the event, volunteers from parishes across the United States do much of the work, including staffing the endless restaurants and food stalls sprawled beneath tent awnings.

Marian Days, while growing from 200 to 70,000 attendees, has evolved over the years and included some growing pains. At one time, wall-to-wall people elbowed for a space to sleep on the seminary grounds and spilled over into the small, bewildered town--and at times the socializing aspect threatened to overshadow the spiritual one. But many of the social tensions have been resolved and the facilities expanded and upgraded, including the addition of showers, restrooms, a Prayer Garden, Stations of the Cross, and the Vietnamese Martyrs Auditorium. In addition to camping out in tents on the seminary grounds or filling nearby motels, attendees also set up tents on the lawns of welcoming locals, some of whom invite the same families into their backyards year after year. Jim Kerr is one of the locals who likes to attend every year “so we can eat something exceptional. I just ate pork intestines and it was very good. We love the Vietnamese iced coffee with sweetened condensed milk.”

His wife Amy recalled, “One year it was raining. We were with our three daughters. We were getting rained on. A teen boy called over several of his friends with umbrellas—they escorted us to the food and kept us dry. One of our daughters grew up going to this, and got to know the people at the parish who run this restaurant (Queen of Vietnam Church in Port Arthur TX). After she was grown, she moved to the Port Arthur area and knows the same people there now.” Doug Huynh from Hastings Nebraska fled Vietnam in 1975 when he was eighteen. But he says Marian Days is about more than the past. “When you have a hard time now, you ask Mary for blessing. We come to visit her, to pay our respects and agree to come back. There are Vietnamese from all 50 states, Canada and Australia. We meet other Vietnamese people from all around the country. Some families drive 24 hours—8 hours is easy, we can’t complain. My mother-in-law listens to Bible talks and talks by priests. My kids like to hang out with other kids. There is good Vietnamese food.” Tai Le is one of the teenage boys from Queen of Vietnam Church in Port Arthur who comes every year to work in his parish’s Marian Days restaurant. “Our parish has a sign-up sheet and we volunteer to work here to raise funds for our church. We also come for the experience of meeting other people and to get to know our faith. The elderly here share their stories and they explain we should go back to Vietnam to learn our history. They tell us you should know history or it will repeat itself. My mother is very devoted to Mary. I choose to go to church every morning at 6 am at home. I don’t expect any rewards when I come here. I just come here to serve others.”

Duyen Nguyen from Arlington TX was blinded in a car accident. “Since 2000, my parents have come to pray for me. Miracles do happen. The doctors said I might see again. One day perhaps I will see again and God will bless me with a miracle. We go to mass here and everything. We go to retreats to listen to speakers. We go to pray and bless ourselves with holy water. Our parents volunteer here. Our church runs a restaurant here. Parishioners volunteer, raise funds for church. We also come for fun.” Daniel Tran of Rochester, Minnesota floated in a canoe with 29 people for 20 days before reaching Hong Kong. Although a Buddhist at the time, he now attends Marian Days every year as a Catholic with his wife. Indeed, his wife, Yen-Huong, says many Buddhists come to Marian Days as well. Also posted on Strange Islands

What do you do when....

Photo:  www.siaphoto.com

What do you do when you can't breathe?  When something occurs that literally strips the breath from your body and you're suspended in that polarizing moment, gasping.  This can take many forms.  Some beautiful, some incredibly raw and angry, some reaching a level of sublime happiness, and others so steeped in sadness that  it is beyond words to express.

That moment, when the air is taken from us seems to last an endless forever.  Our minds and emotions seize up in a sort of shock as we grapple to understand the enormity of the moment.  A whole slew of physiological effects set in...pupils dilating, heart rate increasing, fingertips and lips going slightly numb, slightly tingling, goosebumps hitting at times, sweating occurring at others, stomach twisting and pitching, laughter bursting from us in a glorious ripple of smiling notes, or gut wrenching sobs the next sound we're capable of making.  

Most of the time when this happens, we are forever changed.  Uplifted at times, devastated at others.  It's one of those very pure moments when everything narrows down to a literal pinpoint of focus.  From that one breath suspended, to that next moment when we finally inhale again, the world changes.  We change.  A remarkable shift occurs.

It's a curious thing, how everything can change in such a blinding, rapid manner.  It can happen in a fleeting rush, barreling upon us in a wild, dramatic swirl.  Or it can slip through and brush softly as a whisper.  Regardless of the delivery, it is profound and dramatic.

We experience it from the hands of another....from the words of another.  Or from our own initiative.  Sometimes it is a moment in Nature.  Or a song lyric.  A fragrance that teases the heart and the memory.  A touch so sincere that we cannot resist it.  And we are undone.  Unraveled, or conversely, wound so tightly, so quickly, that we must shatter into a million pieces of delight or maddened grief.

Peace walks these same halls.  As does love.  They both grab the breath from us, lifting up and embracing us in an inestimable manner.  

What do you do when you can't breathe?  You endure it.  Or you celebrate it.  You continue to live, accepting that infinitesimal moment that has shifted everything that you are into a new person.  And you are born anew, taking fumbling steps, uncertain on wobbly knees and feet.  Pared down to your elemental self, vulnerable, naked and alone, and seeing the world through brand new eyes.

What do you do when you can't breathe and the cold vapor of that crashing moment stuns you?  You momentarily become a creature of ice, shards of silvered frost entwining throughout your very cells, turning you crystalline.  Waiting for a touch to warm and melt you back to humanity.

Waiting for a touch to enfold.  To stutter-start your breath again.

There in an indefinable space that simultaneously lasts both a nanosecond and a limitless, echoing eternity...what do you do?  You feel.  Simply that.  

You feel.

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If you enjoyed this article and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

My purpose is ________.

Photo: creepypasta.wikia.com

My talented friend, Tameka Mullins (Lyric Fire blog) posted this today on her Facebook page:

My purpose is _____________.

She shared her own impression of her raison d'etre in a beautiful manner and I loved the concept.  I dashed off my own reply:

Good question! To write. To love. To recognize the beauty in those around me and give them a shining mirror to see their own beauty. To remember that my words have power and as such, to use them mindfully. To share my heart in an authentic manner. To see those obscure yet breathtaking moments around me and scribe them, painting them onto paper. I do much of this via the medium of writing, but I also do it by simply being Me.  - SDS 1/29/2012

I was immediately struck by the thought that this would make a fun blog post, so I zipped off an inquiry and request to Tameka to use her idea here.  She like the idea and here I am, tapping away at my keyboard.

It's an interesting, thought provoking question, yes?  My purpose is ______________.  The fascinating thing is that at any given moment, our answer can and probably does change.  We change from moment to moment, after all.  With each breath, there is potential for a new experience that will shape and change us.

If I had to boil it all down to an inclusive, all encompassing thought, I would automatically say that my purpose is to write.  That's why it was my first response above.  Writing is such an intrinsic part of my nature that it touches literally every part of my life.  I write as a vocation, to make a regular living, and I write as an avocation, to please myself and satisfy my need to create.

Probably the other purpose that didn't occur to me when I dashed off my response above is another simple one:  To grow.

That's why we're here on this Earth School, after all.  To grow.  To learn.  To mature.  To become that better version of ourselves on a daily basis.  We do this by trying, failing, succeeding.  We try on different hats to see how they suit us in myriad applications - relationships, careers, creative pursuits, healthy ambitions, places to live and travel.  The list is endless.

Tameka's Facebook post gave me an immediate and entertaining challenge and I responded with a stream of consciousness flow of words.  Usually when we do that type of writing, it is as visceral and truthful a response as you can achieve.  So, in an interesting manner, I gave myself that same mirror that I mentioned in my own comment.  I learned some things about myself of which I am already cognizant and comfortable.  When I read my words back, I smiled, because the picture painted was that perfect fit.

There have been times when I have engaged in similar writing exercises when the resulting picture wasn't as perfect a fit.  There is value in that very thing, being confronted with thoughts that we didn't realize we espoused until challenged to give them voice.  I've grown dramatically from such experiences.

Today's exercise was lighthearted, effortless and fun.  Tameka's delightful response further in her thread was:

Wow, Dawn! What a beautiful purpose you have! You give good purpose! LOL!

Isn't that the BEST comment that she made?  "You give good purpose."  I think this belongs on a t-shirt, similar to the one posted above.  I know I'd certainly buy it and wear it!

Why not take a few minutes and play this game with Tameka and I?  Empty your mind, take a deep breath and just write.  Don't over think it.  Just let the words flow until you feel it is finished.  Then read your words back and see what you learn about yourself.  If you're so inclined, share here with us - I think it will be a fun experience for all of us.

I also encourage you to click the link for Tameka's wonderful blog, Lyric Fire and experience her writing.  She is wonderfully talented and I enjoy myself every time I pay her a visit.  Tameka, thank you for the inspiration for this post!
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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

TRY, TRY AGAIN .....

HELLO OLD FRIENDS!!







Well, after a year (actually - it's been OVER a year!) I'm back.... at least, I think I'm back! (insert smiley face here!)

Alas, what BETTER time of year - when making New Year's resolutions - to re-start, jump-start, RENEW my outlet for self-expression and optimism? Due partly to just letting LIFE "get in the way," I've also experienced some major set-backs within my life - I think I've spent the last few months of this year just reflecting on all that has happened in that time-frame. Both good and bad, it's definitely been a roller-coaster of a ride!

One thing I've discovered in my absence from this page, is that I was experiencing a tremendous amount of guilt during those less-than-stellar moments in my life when I attempted to sit down to spread a positive thought out into the world... I mistakenly felt that I just couldn't do it. I've always known deep within me what I wanted this blog to represent. During all these lower points, I took a (probably) too-deep look at my current situation and ended up developing a major pity-party for myself in the process!

Besides a major health scare and another open-heart surgery for my husband, ailing parents, financial issues, job searching... I previously thought the year was just going down hill all the way. But believe me, I've also had PLENTY to be happy and thankful for as well this past year... So then, what about those moments that weren't so bad, or so ugly, or so horrible? Simple. Laziness.

I let myself slip out of the habit of writing - and sharing. The next thing I knew - three months had gone by - then six, then twelve. Isn't that how we let most bad habits take over? Without thinking - without focus it . just . happens .

And so - my "theme" this evening, if you will - in keep with our traditions of renewal during the month of January - is that it's o.k. .....

TO GET BACK UP

TO TRY AGAIN

TO START OVER

TO SET A NEW GOAL

TO DREAM A NEW DREAM

My mission statement within this blog has always been - and will continue to be - to spread a positive word - or smile, if you will. I hope you will continue to walk with me in that endeavor, while I learn to cut myself some slack in my self-expectations!

I might not be able to write each and every single day, but I'm going to set a NEW goal that I start by trying to post at least once a week - and hopefully, the good habits return, and I post more than that! And if I don't - I don't. But I won't get all "hung up" about it!

I sincerely pray that all of you are looking UP at this time - looking ahead to the possibilities, and taking the time to re-charge and re-kindle your batteries. Happy New Year to all of you - I look forward to renewing some blogger friendships, and making new ones!!!

Pay it forward - spread a smile!!!

-Pam

An ephemeral equation

www.flickr.com/photos/monster/466981669/

We're approaching the end of 2011 and I've taken time to glance back through my blog archives for the year.  Compared to the previous two years, 2011 was a slower pace of blog writing for me.  The year itself was quite full of challenges on myriad levels, and that's where my focus and energy went.  While I've never been one to embrace the concept of blogging daily, I do prefer to write more often than I ended up accomplishing this year. 

This post isn't about typical New Year Resolutions.  I've shared my thoughts on that topic many times since I began blogging (Just Say No!, Healing Morning 12/27/2010), so I won't revisit here. 

What I want to concentrate on is recent events.  I mentioned in my last post that life has improved slightly for me.  As a freelance writer, I live a constant roller coaster ride with keeping work in the pipeline, keeping my name in constant circulation with networking groups and attending as many of those networking functions as I can.  With that much activity happening on a monthly basis, you would think that work would be flowing with no problem.  I would think that too, but it wasn't the case for the year of 2011.  I have been through difficult, challenging times before, but I can truthfully say that 2011 rates right up at the top of the list of tough times experienced.

Why am I talking about this?  Because somehow, in the midst of a truly scary time where I couldn't imagine things improving, they did.  This is a quote from my last post:

"I have also just recently weathered some rather trying times where I wasn't sure how I would get from one day to the next.  The darkness that accompanied those challenges was quite intense and looking back, I have no idea how I managed to maintain even a wee shred of optimism and belief that good experiences were in my personal pipeline.  Somehow, though, deep within me, I did hold onto that small flame of belief.  That small flame of pure love, of pure healing, of pure manifestation....it all rested deep within me, despite the trying times."  With a Bright Spirit, Healing Morning 11/30/2011

I've been pondering this for the last several weeks, and even spoke of the whole experience with several friends.  What strikes my immediate consciousness so strongly is this:  somehow, despite all the fears, all the weariness, all the sense of self-defeat and borderline hopelessness, something within me stubbornly refused to give up.  Somehow, some small spark of Life continued to fight the battle mentioned above and I presented enough belief to manifest a new contract.  Let me stress that the environment of this new contract is as close to ideal as I can imagine.  No small wonder, that, as I did sit down and write out those particulars more than once during 2011.  What I speak of is sometimes called Life Mapping, where we write out our wishes and dreams for a specific purpose, then release the request with all its attendant specific details to God/Universe/Spirit. 

I've done that many times in my life, and I admit that there was usually a healthy dose of doubt in the practice.  This is rather amusing, considering that I believe in the concept for others wholeheartedly.  It was for myself that I held back, that I entertained doubts and allowed niggling voices of insidious poison to creep in.  That being said, I reference the above quote from my previous blog post and share the fact that something within me did persevere and refuse to completely give up.

Speaking with a dear friend on the phone during the week leading up to Christmas 2011, I talked about this realization and said,"Knowing that I was able to manifest such a wonderful result with this new work contract in the midst of such doubt, imagine what I can manifest NOW, as I am in a state of new awareness and absolute belief!"

That's magical and very powerful, that realization.  Universal Law, for those of you who embrace the concept, dictates focusing on those good, positive feelings.  Study the emotions and memorize how it feels to be in a space of abundance and happiness, so that you can replicate that feeling again and again. 

This is challenging for many of us, staying in that positive emotion, and I am no different.  My childhood mantra regarding finances is one that has programmed a negative energy for most of my adult life.  This is where I am focusing daily energy to shift that pattern and change the programming.  I am focusing on how I feel each day of this new work contract.  I am minutely dissecting how it feels to be happy, to have money flowing into my daily existence, to know that security is being established.  I am doing this so that I can amplify these emotions and project them outward so that this energy continues in a looping manner, bringing more of the same to my life on a regular and continuing basis.  The challenge of this mindset is that it is an ephemeral equation.  Belief is at its core, and happiness and positive emotions are the fuel. It is not a tangible thing at first.  Tangible results DO occur, but the belief and positive emotions must exist first.

At a holiday party, the question was asked of us to talk about not a resolution for 2012, but of something we wanted to embrace for ourselves on a purely personal level.  My thought was part of what prompted this very blog post, as I said that I had been thinking of how we behave as children.  If any child is loved, they have an inalienable sense of entitlement in the purest manner.  They simply believe that good things will happen and they believe that they deserve those good and delightful things.  If there is one thing I can say with absolute certainty, it is that I am loved in this life.  By friends and family, my life is richly blessed with love.  Somewhere along the way, however, I lost some of that childlike sense of entitlement to receive good and positive blessings.  Please note that I use the word "entitlement" in a positive manner, as it can carry negative connotations.  What I am speaking of is that manner children have of believing in magic.  I write about it quite often and I still carry a firm belief that magic exists, but I was also putting up roadblocks to receive good and positive blessings for myself.  I am in the process of recapturing the sense of how that feels....that sense of entitlement in the purest, most innocent and faithful manner.  Faith and belief are key words here.

So, if there is anything even remotely approaching a New Year's Resolution for me in 2012, it is to continue to give daily thought to amplifying and projecting my current level of success so that it can continue and increase in ways I have yet to imagine.  I remind myself of my comment above to my girlfriend that so much more is possible.  Limits are things we impose on ourselves out of fear.  That much I know to be true, and it's something that I've excelled at over a lifetime...getting in my own way.  I choose, now, to excel at getting OUT of my own way and existing in abundance.  I know it is possible.  I am living the result of my own wee kernel of belief that refused to be extinguished during the travails of 2011.  I believe that that wee kernel of belief, that tiny flame that flickered valiantly in the midst of a great big boatload of darkness can be stoked.  As I write this, in my mind's eye that tiny flame is growing into a nice, healthy bonfire.  It warms my hands and face as the flames rise.  Rather than being a destructive force, this is the kind of flame that does not consume in a negative manner.  Or perhaps it does....perhaps the consuming is of those negative thoughts. 

Whatever the case, it is clear to me that I can build this fire.  I can increase my own prosperity.  I can embrace the belief that I deserve success in multiple areas of my life.  I can release my death grip on doubt and fear. 

Many years ago, I was given a writing assignment to come up with a definitive sentence to describe what I wanted out of my immediate experience.  This was the sentence that I came up with:

"I want to be like the fluffy seeds of the dandelion puff.....releasing from ties that bind me to a single existence to ride the winds of Life and be unafraid of where those winds will take me."

 I find that sentence, that statement of intent to be a good one for the New Year of 2012.  To all of you who continue to visit me here at Healing Morning and offer so many beautiful comments on what you find here, I wish you a beautiful New Year full of blessings.
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Birthday Realizations

I turned 30 last Monday. While I used to wonder why people felt shy about announcing their age, I think I'm beginning to understand. As I approached this milestone last week, I began to feel more like I was marching to the grave than I ever have before. It wasn't necessarily scary, but it made me re-evaluate all of the expectations I had held of myself. Like, "When I'm 30, I will have accomplished xyz. My life will be settled and I will be a boring adult." For better or worse, I haven't quite managed to achieve most of that.

This summer my aunt said to me, "You're almost 30. You should know how to clean a shower curtain." Funnily enough, I missed that lesson in the manual of life.

Most days, I still feel like an ignorant kid. But when I was younger, I had more confidence. I was sure I'd amount to something great, like a famous politician. But once college came around, so did the questioning of many systems, including the political and legal ones, as well as society, ideology, gender... In short, I became confused. Which I have remained to this day.

If that means I still don't know how to clean a shower curtain, then so be it. I'm busy living my life the best way I know how. And only I can live it!

Re-posted from BeckyBlab.