Category: Self-reflection

Repeated everywhere I turn, we all have a choice.

When I was searching for the exact words of Brene Brown’s daughter in the Netflix special (that I did not find, and was too lazy to leap through the audio to pull it out), I did find this.

“When we make the choice to dare greatly, we sign up to get our asses kicked. We can choose courage or we can choose comfort, but we can’t have both. Not at the same time.”

In Alison Armstrong’s course on Dominant Drivers, she reiterates a concept that runs through all of her material. Are we functioning at the level of Human Animal or Human Spirit? Although that may not be a choice, noticing is. And when we discover our Dominant Driver, or pinpoint a driver that is controlling a response in the moment, we do have a choice. Once we are aware, the possibilities open. We are capable of shifting.

Amber Kuileimailani Bonici has been sending emails on choice all week, all year. Saying yes, or choosing the “holy no.” Taking on energy, transmuting energy, or choosing to be in personal energy. Taking action or giving action.

We might feel caught or like the loop never ends, but we do have choice. It might be easiest to see in the smallest of moments. A sip of water or no sip of water. When I think of that choice, it is so obvious that there is no right or wrong in this moment. Either one will do. It is the string of moments that seem to have a greater impact. I chose to sip the water. It is important to my body over the long run. But it was merely a choice in the moment. I can pick up a new choice and move forward on that stream at any point.

My action choices are currently mostly in use of “free time”, or directing the required actions into choices (are they required?). I am not an expert. I need to require myself to do art journaling or set up time to finish my Peace Shield. It does not come naturally.

I need to rethink how I write and think this through. I choose to drink water. I choose to write and express. I choose to put an hour into the creation of the shield. I choose to spend time outside today, walking or gardening. I choose to elevate my consciousness. That’s a lot.

Maybe just one small thing in this moment. Or two. I choose to write. I choose to sip the water. Success! Celebrating success.

I listen to a lot of inspirational speakers. They come in the forms of mentors, classes and Youtubes. When I am realistic, the inspirational speakers are also the people I speak with, my friends, family, and everyone that I am exposed to in the medical world.

Something I have noticed is the echo. The same words and concepts resonate. I will hear a theme, a kind of chorus, that repeats itself over the week. I feel like it is Spirit trying to make a profound point. “Look here, over here. You haven’t looked closely enough. Do it again. Look here.”

In Brené Brown’s Netflix Special (A Call to Courage), she shares an experience where her daughter lives a perfect moment, and then wants to take a mental snapshot so she can come back to its perfection. We are all being called to do that.

The theme I am repeating is Elevation of Consciousness. Actually, we are all repeating it. The problem with that focus is that the challenge of elevation comes with a mental call to human downfall. Pain. Media. Societal pressure and hardship (the political situation, financial challenges, personal social wobbling). When the human conditions make the mind spin out, I am called to realize that this is the greatest version of unconsciousness! I need to take control and elevate. We all need to be responsible. We need to bring the entirety of our world up. If we don’t, who will.

This is going to be an ongoing echo. Elevate. Keep elevating. Take the snapshots that Brené’s daughter suggests. Revisit them whenever darkness is spinning out.

I can’t get control of my world. I can’t drink enough water. I can’t eat enough perfect food, green smoothies, light proteins, beet juice. Pain hops around as chemo tackles not only its goal, but a myriad of other body components. I spin out. My body lives a world that is spinning out of control.

And as suggested by so many situations and words of “inspirational speakers” of this week, I can be in the spin out and watch it. And at the same time I hear Consciousness guide my mind to elevate.

I think, “I am laughter,” and I see the scene where baby Nyasha laughs ecstatically as she sits in Grandma F’s lap. I see myself at a table of teen Girl Scouts, playing Balderdash, reading Kayleen’s words. Kayleen is hysterical. I nearly fell off the bar stool… I couldn’t control my own ecstacy.

I think, “I am love.” The snapshot of the kid’s weddings, the signing of the Ketuba, the science experiments – both sand and chemical, and the joy and connection of the participants. I see the random Youtube, where the people adopted a dog that had been in an adoption facility since he was a few weeks old, 461 days total. He was shy, skittish, not socialized. With a week, he was a family dog living a real life, totally evolved in personality, because of love.

I think, “I am Spirit.” The stories of Reiki journeys, retold through Amisha’s visions spring to life. I am held by Mother Mary, carried by unicorns, connected to Karolynne/my ancestors/the further generations in a Tree of Life on the hill.

I picture Conrad and Nyasha at the Earth Sanctuary, searching for my tree, taking a photo of the “memorial stake”.

I see the fear and evolution in my body shaking in Kundalini energy.

I look up to a tree far ahead of my path, leaves parted in the perfect shape of a heart.

I revision a moment on First Beach, the moon rising and sun setting over the horizon in a bizarre and beautiful simultaneous harmony.

My consciousness shifts. The human stuff is still there. I am still talking, or wallowing, or experiencing. But my higher self is with the snapshots, in the eye of the storm, bringing myself to resonance. We are all THAT. We can continue to list the “I am” statements, like we balance or meditate, collecting the current and historical snapshots in positive moments to be relived when we need them most. Humanly, “I am the highest potential of myself.” Spiritually, “I am consciousness.”

Why? It is a question that has come up in my classes and mentoring groups repeatedly this week. It isn’t the why of blame or criticism. It is the why of self analysis.

Amber (creator of Woman Unleashed) discussed it. She used it as an analysis of action. If I look deeply into a repeated action, and really look at why I do it, eventually I hit emotion. She said it could take twenty layers of questions, and in the depth is self discovery.

What do I want to know about myself? What do I want to change or shift? What needs to be discovered?

I am extremely irritated with my car insurance company. It’s pretty petty. They want all of the particular information on the people who live in my house, who they are insured by, at what level, driving records. To me, this is ludicrous.

I taught driver’s ed. My insurance is maximized! Apparently, Pemco could be paid more if the analysis believes others should be “added”. I am irritated enough to consider shifting companies after nearly forty years of success and appreciation for this one.

Why? How deep do I need to go? If I look inside my thought process, why does this “piss me off”. It really does.

Why? All of us, the members of this household, are responsible. Most of us are overwhelmingly insured. The outlier (who has more moderate, normal levels of car insurance) would never be behind my wheel, never. Kwami, who does drive my car, has equal insurance to my own, from the same company.

Refocus… why? We are doing nothing wrong. We are not cheating the system. The implication is that there is an issue, an accusation. Privacy, they are inside of my personal life, picking at the details.

Why? This angers me because… I don’t know if there is an originating point or story. I remember a time in Fifth grade where I did a really good job on an assignment, and a classmate took the paper and presented it as her own. I definitely feel the burn of “doing the right thing” (in my mind), and then being scrutinized. Guilty until proven innocent.

I could clean that out in other scenarios. In high school, my best friend’s parents constantly accused me of being a horrible influence. Although I probably did provoke rebellion, I was likely one of the best influences in her world, from a parental standpoint anyway.

Why? I want to be seen for who I am. I do not want to prove my innocence. I want to be appreciated for my responsible actions.

This is a universal irritation. Many people in our country feel irritated, invaded by the government, watched, over controlled. (They really should consider Alexa and their cell phones first, but whatever.) Perhaps they are experiencing the same “why”. I can deepen my empathy a bit, try to understand others from my own window of awareness.

Perhaps this isn’t the deepest use of the topic, but I did gain an ounce of self understanding. When I call the insurance representative, I can express my disgust without yelling. Or perhaps, since the person on the phone has nothing to do with corporate policy and procedure (and probably isn’t paid enough to be my counselor), I will just politely provide information, and let it go.

There are bigger fish to fry. There are more quandaries into why.

I feel grateful to live in a world of diversity. Saidi invited me to Kampala (Uganda) many years back, and although it was not a time I could travel, I started to investigate. I looked at pictures of the city, the airport, the people. It would be a beautiful place to visit one day… and I would definitely stand out! I am very white. The people of Kampala are not.

What was exceptionally striking in the photos was the airport. Because of Nyasha and Shante’s travels, I have been blessed with a lot of time at the Seattle hub. People arrive and depart from all over the world, and diversity in skin color and language are obvious. Most of the times at the airport, the medley of people has not declared a majority. But the photos of the Ugandan airport showed a sea of similarity. Because I have only known International Airports, I noticed!

The Pacific Northwest is blessed. We enjoy diversity every day. It could simply be the foods we choose, with restaurants in a wide variety of cultural spins and choices (like vegan), or schools and colleges that are taught in languages other than English. The area has spaces of acceptance for a wide range of individuality, whether a person was born to or later chose their approach to the world.

The spiritual and religious variety is vast. With such a creative Source, the demand to reach every individual internally requires options. We have a wide variety of churches and groups for Divine inspiration. Since many people find their connection in nature, experiencing the depth of God outdoors, our region is perfect. We have it all, mountains to hike, waves to surf, snow to ski.

I appreciate this life, this region, and the move toward expansive acceptance. I know that we can continue to grow (and that we still need to), and that thought delights me as well. Thank you to all those who have come before us, who have led the way, fought for the rights and diversity that we live. I am blessed by your work. We all are!

A new year always asks for a new baseline. People like to make resolutions. I don’t think I have ever used that term for things that I seek to do. No one seems to be successful with a “resolution”. Traditionally, exercise equipment becomes a clothes hanger before February.

So many things ask to be regenerated. My financial sheet, the banking, and the way I address the medical challenges and diet. The ostomy is undergoing a supply revamp, as it shifts and changes with a hernia. We had to buy new bed sheets, mundane. My computer drown (to death) and the new laptop has a lot of those “original bugs” to work out. The examples are mounting, and overwhelming, and frankly, somewhat ridiculous.

I feel like I am in a forest fire, like Elsa in Frozen, working to put out fire after fire. For each that is quelled, two more arise. I can lower their impact, keep the size down, but none subside. They are small because of my efforts, but continue to grow in number. Endless.

The politics of the nation echoes the need to be regenerated. With the new year comes a vast opportunity to emerge united, to manifest a better life. Housing, food, and healthcare, basics for the masses. Addressing all people as human, as valuable, and reflecting that in policy and policing. The earth. Rejuvenation of a tired education structure. Respect and support for small businesses. So much more. We have the capacity to be strong and exemplary. I can see the potential. It is bright and exciting, waiting on the horizon.

Yet, the apparent beginning burns old structures. I wish it was less literal, as I watch the heated battles and painful images. They are the forest fires that clear the ground for rebirth. The aftermath leaves the ashen rubble, the stench of smoke and death. The new growth promises bright colors and tender shoots, the fluffy bunnies, scurrying squirrels, and baby deer returning from places unknown. Patience. Time. Compassion. We can do this.

Nyasha owns(ed) many bamboo plants. Originally, they were lucky bamboo, potted in water in groups of several stalks. That is sure death. It might be an interesting temporary desk plant or quickie gift for a friend, but it is not a permanent housing idea for bamboo.

During college, Nyasha and Shante attempted to grow “sister plants”. They exchanged starts of foliage from the two coasts, Shante in Boston and Nyasha in Seattle. Nyasha mailed bamboo. It was a perilous and ultimately deadly endeavor. Touching and sweet, but we are talking about plants none the less.

Bamboo, planted in the earth, will never die. In fact, it spreads like wildfire. It crosses the fence line and invades the neighbors landscape, something Mic knows all too well. Gardeners warn homeowners to create concrete perimeters, and watch for sprouts that try to jump the line.

But the houseplants have a lifespan. It might have to do with the size of a pot. It may be the lanky, sprawling stalks, too thin to support their height. Or it just might be about Angua and Ruby, Nyasha’s cats. With feline stealth, they sneak to the base and gnaw on the greens. Leaves are like salad. Stalks are malicious mischief. (Carrot stays busy in the kitchen, attempting to lick the butter.)

The symbolism for bamboo (oh dear) is strength, flexibility and health. These particular plants started as “lucky bamboo”. Go literal? I think not.

The bamboo are jumping realms! They are taking their assets to where we can reach higher principles. We are reaching up! The luck, strength, flexibility, and health will be with us from the Spiritual space. Thank you bamboo for your presence and your presents. We love you and wish you a beautiful journey to Valhalla.

The sound of the windchimes, the melodic crashes and tones, relentless and repeated. Waves of torrential downpour, sweeping across the rooftop, the rush of water in the downspout. The shudder of the walls and the strain of the rooftop, as branches weed themselves from the heights.

The flash of the clocks, the surges and regeneration of power. The street porch lights flicker and pulse. Thunder rumbles, echoing through the earth.

Silent pictures in the mind. Protection, the Divine Mother bringing her warmth and beauty, encompassing, releasing me from this world. I stand on the pyramid, storm swirling with power, light energy dancing like the Auroras across the skyline. Power staff in hand, vibrant with the energy of ancestors, of my people, of the spirits. The sacred song, resonating, reverberating, encircling the planet.

The rocking boat on stormy waters. Jesus in the bow. They will drown without the Master. He leaves the higher realm, returns to the body, perplexed with how to teach those who do not truly comprehend. A sweep of the hand, a connection to Truth, the waters calm. Flatten. Vast and blue. The eye of the storm. We are the eye. We are the I.

Everything means something, teaches something profound. Or not. Maybe not. I need help finding this one.

My laptop was on the side counter, and I was typing innocently. A full glass of water sat to my right.

In visual slow motion, the glass tipped. The mind said, “Noooo…oooo…ooooooo”. The water spread, and the energy of sudden chaos leapt to motion.

I flipped the computer over, and swung it to the other counter, upside down in it’s V shape. I grabbed the stack of important paperwork and the slew of neon Post- its out of the standing puddle. Towels were involved, multiple towels. The computer. The papers. The counter. The cabinet, inside and out, and the floor.

At a crime scene course with Girl Scouts, they discussed the spread of blood, the look of the spread, how a little liquid goes a long way. Two cups of water is a LOT of liquid. It went a very long way.

I can say that the paperwork was more concerning in that moment than the computer. I was so quick to grab the laptop, to flip it, to dry it. It remained upside down for a long time. And then it sat, fully functional for a few more hours. When you take a Tylenol or even a stronger pain pill, it is 45 minutes until there is relief. (Someone needs to work on that.) When you spill water on a laptop, and a tiny drop sneaks in through the power port, it takes three hours… until death.

The human things that I learned:

Use a sports bottle, not a glass, near a laptop.
There are very cool, hand painted Hydro Flasks on Etsy. Apparently, I need a third bottle.

Unplug a post-bath laptop and turn it off. I don’t know how that helps, but I trust the computer guy who said it.
Unplug the power cord from the computer too.
Laptops can’t swim. Keyboards on PC’s can’t swim either, but that is less of an issue. Cheaper.
If your computer is dead, there is a part of it that you do not want to “leave behind” at the shop. (So the dead computer came home with the new laptop.)
Chromebooks don’t Zoom like normal laptops.

From historical experience more than this time, never let a wet, neon Post-it sit on anything. The color is contagious. (I was quick to place them on sheets of white paper for drying, protecting surfaces from the transfer.)
Individual papers don’t stay wet for very long, maybe a couple of hours. Seems quick.

It takes a village. I am not interested in being tech savvy. Kwami, Nyasha, Shante, and a host of people at Computer Concepts in Bothell were my village.
Local businesses rock. They not only diagnose true death, but also stock the perfect replacement… and don’t even think to offer it until you ask for advice.
Stimulus checks can be predestined. I am grateful.

My greatest “spiritual take” of the situation? I didn’t have any emotion around this process. It could have been emotional. Everything means something, or teaches something profound. Or not. Maybe the little human things are enough.