Zen From My Pen

Apr. 27, 2017

You may or may not know this about me.  If you have read very much of my work, you are already at TMI (too much information) regarding this and I apologize to you.  I’ll keep the mention of it brief and tell you it’s likely you will be able to relate to the rest.

I’ve been diagnosed bipolar thirty years now (April in fact, and this is April 26 of 2017).  I say it like that, “been diagnosed” in the off chance someone might think, “oh.  Who knows then.  It may not be”.  

In the course of my seeking relief, I found a truly outstanding neuro-psychiatrist (deceased), Dr. Abraham A. Low, who was building a language for those he termed “nervous” patients.  He taught me to bring to my mind the term “lowered feelings” as a good replacement for depression.  Good because it was much less alarming (and dramatic) than depression, or in the case of those bipolar, clinical depression.

If you find no relief in that, my guess would be you have never experienced the specter of depression coming in to steal away your peace of mind, comfort with yourself and others and any sterling quality one could ever hope to claim, again.  That, in itself, is cause for eternal gratitude, should you be looking for things you can feel grateful about.

The above intros my remarks because I watch my mind and have noticed a few days spell of “lowered feelings” mustering together.  Weighing in, I find having been alerted that a family member considers me a “conflict carrier”, noticing my mother’s death had been ten years ago earlier this week and it is reasonable to describe my “episodes” of either manic or depressive behavior have spaced pretty well ten years apart matched with my worst depressive episode caught me off guard four months after my mother’s death, and not petty in the least,  I’ve misplaced (and remarkably well, it seems) someone else’s money.

Thus, I explain seeking Zen … from my pen.                                    To Google, what is Zen?, tells me I'd better tell you what I thought it means, as I really had almost no idea and won't be turning the rest of this post into an expose. I meant most basically seeking peace.

I've had enough glimpses into an entirely different reality from my life generally, where I'm not hounded by guilt over some error I've committed or striving to catch up with where I feel I ought to be in life, that when the darkness seems to be occluding the good of my days, I yearn for that peace, literally hunger for it.

I found the video googling how many people on planet earth desire peace. I found peace in the midst of its immensely soothing music. Perhaps you may, too.                                                       


https://youtu.be/CD8BAI3G5Mg                                                     463.270417.19571

Apr. 27, 2017

Published on Jan 22, 2013
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Apr. 20, 2017

I feel now that I've been reading about the symbology of seeing numbers repeating, in my case, 444 (4:44) especially, that one of the things those currently not physical would be encouraging me to do, ARE encouraging me to do, is to write one of my 30 minute sessions with myself. Writing being the key activity.

Actually, writing is what needs to be emphasized, because my 30 minute sessions with myself have become so dear and regular, or they would be more emphasized. I find I have a difficult time balancing and fitting everything in.


I'm left alone again, now, and with two quite demanding little puppies. I'm not at all sure right now, which one it is that is doing the bird calling with a whistle-y ooooooh at the end, but it certainly commands my attention. Good thing, I guess, that I've observed others in the house (at times when there were others in the house) ignoring.Sometimes there simply is no remedy suitable.


This morning as I opened my eyes the clock was at 4:44 and then it swiftly turned to 4:45. Astounding! For the longest time it seemed I looked at the clock right at 4:44 every afternoon. I'm not focused enough nor organized and attentive enough to even be thinking about trying to make that happen.


On our Saturday Morning Master Mind this past Saturday (preceding Easter and my sister's birthday), there were a couple of our regulars talking about their favorite subjects -- angels, guides and other worldly experiences.  If you've read me before you already know I practice daily a Master Mind of Invisible Counselors (per Napoleon Hill – who also inspired the 30 minute sessions with myself) and within that group I have a group I call my Guidance Team comprised of family, friends and the occasional errant stray who've passed on to the other side.


I have named them my Guidance Team for my own reasons and can readily understand and appreciate others seeing them as angels and guides for reasons suitable to them. I point this out, however, because I have never called them either angels or guides. Well, maybe, in a sidewise way, I've sought to be guided. Or, for sure, thanked them for guidance.


Why should that matter? Well, it may NOT matter EXCEPT to me, but if I'm aware of a certain individual visiting me, counseling, suggesting ideas to me, I want to take a moment and revel in the privilege of having known them when we were present physically together, or in some cases, take a few stripes for having been gossipy about them or otherwise misled in my behavior regarding them.


I have found I have learned some important lessons in that way, or just enjoyed feeling their presence, which I would not wish to miss. I'm much to flighty (still) to count on having noticed otherwise.  H O W E V E R … having had to resort to googling AGAIN (not being sure of what I remembered learning before) repeating numbers seeing and what that might mean, I find I'm at a loss as to what to even think of, let alone call, those who visit me without my awareness of having known them and their names.


So … must I resort to calling them angels? Should I step into the swing of things and call them guides? Why does this bug me so?  Oh, hello EGO!  Well, this is worthy, at least, of some more time.  Catch you later!


Image:  thanks to geralt on Pixabay



Mar. 30, 2017

So, I decided a few months back . . . let’s see, it’s nearly April and it must have been around November – December of 2016, I was just going to go for it.  I was going to become a manifestor.  I even mentioned it to a couple people, not that that didn’t feel weird.  I mean, at a really core level, we all know we’re all manifesting all the time.  And, at some other level, we all recognize everybody’s a little wonky and most of us are beyond challenging everything we say that might seem out of the ordinary.  So, I doubt that if I go back now, (and I can only think of one of those people, for sure) and I say:  “I did it.  Look at all I’ve manifested,” that they’ll be all that impressed.  Even if I AM talking five-figure money, a car I’ve strained over being without for years, and an enviable place to live in the “prettiest place in America”.


Good thing I didn’t do it for that!


So, why tell you?  At least if I tell her, it’s verifiable, and however she takes it, she’ll treat me as though I’ve done something remarkable and she will cheer me on.  That’s who she is.


Here’s why:  For, I dare say, the majority of folks on the planet, the very idea is “woo woo”, and thus out of their purview.  Not that just about everybody wouldn’t love and accept their fondest desires for money, sex, relationships, health dropping right in their laps and right out of seemingly thin air.  Or, would you?  You have this basic idea that when people talk about this sort of thing, it is instantaneous, right?  It sure sounds that way when people share their stories, yeah?  And the briefer the amount of time they have to talk, the more ramped up their interviewer is to get their two cents in, the more collapsed it all seems.  Am I right, or am I wrong?


I tell you – one of the sanest things I’ve ever done (and I had no clue of this at the time) was to decide to step over the line.  You see, I always believed those stories could be true.  Stories told of people curing their money problem, being different from how it had always been, people being different with their money.  Health was a given.  There’s so much malarkey, and has been, that I observed with my mother; with the medical profession and with Big Pharma that I now observe when I lack the good sense to leave the TV off.  Some of the stories with relationships are very heartening.


You might say I had all the belief necessary to believe anything could happen for someone else.  But when it came right down to it, I don’t really know if it’s simply my humanness; or if, rather I could legitimately blame my supposed bi-polar aspect (with up-down, pole to pole mood /emotion swings), but I had days when I just wasn’t sure.


So, I made a decision.  I stepped over the line and decided to believe it could happen for me.  I would learn what I needed to learn, and I knew there were things I needed to learn.  Whenever I read anything cogent to the process I was amazed at things I’d forgotten or that just weren’t at the forefront of my brain.  So much of what I tried to do was out of order.


I had a mentor once – long, long ago – who used to say:  “this is not my station” (her reason for not doing a particular thing).  Manifesting by intent (rather than by default – which I am very, very good at) has not been my station.  I seem to have very little natural ability for it.  I did make a conscious, determined choice FOR it, however.  And, I AM very, very glad.                                                      



Mar. 19, 2017

I knew S. Anne was not a believer when she asked me, “and where do you think you’ll be getting the money for that?” At least, not the sort of believer to tell any more than I already had. That did not so incline me to make it easy for her, though. And, so I said, “out of the thin air.” Rolling her eyes was pretty much what she expected to do, no matter what I responded, and we both knew that, anyway.


For my part, I had just taken the one bill in my possession (it happened to be a twenty) and counted it (pretend counting) up to five hundred dollars and then, ever impatient, told it that it was hundred dollar bill and pretend counted it to ten thousand dollars.


She really did get the better of me by taking it on herself to (in my presence) say to my son, her then boyfriend, “you know what your mom, said? She was telling me she wanted a Toyota Rav 4 and I asked her where she planned to get the money and she said she was going to get it out of the thin air.” Per usual, he kept on doing what he was doing and gave her a cursory, “unh huh”. It brought home to me that he would be playing the role of the non-believer, too, and that could get awkward fast.


What “bested” me out of that was I spent an inordinate amount of time in the ensuing months vacillating over how on earth I would ever explain myself to people I really cared about how my life was changing. I knew my son in ways that only co-dependence can teach and knew that wanting to “get” the money game of life burned in him every bit as much as it did in me.


You see, I considered myself a believer. My first reach when someone talked the Law of Attraction, manifesting, “woo, woo” stuff and a long line of things you’ve seen in my writing (or not) over the years, never was, “well, that’s got to be a scam”, “that never happened” in perpetuity, like anyone can easily find in the comments section just about anywhere on the web. It can’t be easier to be a troll.


What I didn’t grasp was that I was a different stripe of non-believer. And that was exactly the inner nugget to every reason I’d never manifested what was so vital to my current reality.


A friend of mine (whom I had accused of laughing her ass off about people manifesting, and I was worthy of being shot for seeing her that way) reminded me that we are all manifesting all the time. And, yes, generally, I was roundly stropping myself constantly for manifesting the situations that had created such misery for me over the last decades.


I had to get very, very serious about manifesting what I want my life to be and to have, and then I had to lift a very old, very heavy spade, and dig much deeper than I ever would have anticipated, and go much, much deeper from there, to begin to understand what my belief would have to be.


And, I confess, that it was in a shroud of sheepishness, that I had to admit to myself, the mirrors were definitely out there, and I had fought very valiantly to keep them “out there”, when I could have wrapped things up much earlier by seeing myself in my true light. I needed to truly become a “believer”. So, what did I need to “truly” believe?