Tweaks

"I may not be Wonder Woman, 

but you haven't seen both of us in the same room have you?"*

“What in the crap am I doing?” I set out to write “Brunch for the Soul ,”and woke up wondering what I was doing.
 
Sure I’ve attended seminars, workshops, gone to gurus and read self-help books until the grass has reached ceiling height. I ought to have some wisdom on the subject.  I believe in spiritual things. I believe we are spiritual beings. I think the Law of Attraction works but has so many codicils we don’t trust it.   Like if you have two conflicting thoughts, one cancels out the other.
 
When you are working with the subconscious mind, it can drive you nuts.
 
The subconscious has no judgment. It doesn’t hear “I want,” or “I don’t want.”  It only hears “Ice Cream,” or whatever you said you wanted or didn’t want.  
 
See how it can tweak your mind.
 
It’s like the child who wants that ten-liter bottle of Soda. It’s bad for them, they can’t have that much, but they ask again and again and again to the 100th power. They only heard "Soda."

Yep, like the subconscious mind.
 
I believe on a cosmic level we all vibrate since we are made up of atoms, and each atom has an Electromagnetic field, as does our nervous system, so, on that level, we can say we vibrate, which is a clip phrase right now.
 
How does this knowledge help when we are locked in old patterns of behavior that we didn’t choose, don’t want, and that we inherited. As did our parents and their parents, and so on. We have limiting beliefs from childhood that we aren’t lovable, and that we aren’t good enough.
 
I know we are programmable. For heaven's sake, my daughter told me about a reality program where suggestible people could be manipulated to kill someone if they thought it would save them from not death, but from trouble.

That ain't right!
.
“Don’t make waves,” we've heard. “Sit down and shut up.” “Money is hard to come by.” “Artists starve.”  “Obey authority.” And, “I love you and want you to be happy.”
 
Now, run with that.
 
Duh. I’m running but where? Is this it? Is this what I came here for?
 
People talk endlessly about living our dream. "You can do it," we hear.  And so you try and try and end up splattered with the mud your wheels slung on you as they spun in the mire.
 
I hear so much talk of love that I want to throw up.
 
It’s hard to feel love when you’re pissed off.
 
The trick is  #1 to realize you’re pissed off, and #2, to ask why?
 
That was me until I sat down this morning and meditated, and suddenly my mood shifted. I saw the thrill of the journey, the sunshine outside, the glorious day.
 
“If I can save one person from ever having to take their inner child on a play date, I have done my job.” wrote Jen Sincero in her book, You Are a Badass, How to Stop Doubting your Greatness and Start Living An Awesome Life, 

I laughed out loud. 
 
Remember when the “New Age” movement hit the scene? Shirley MacLaine became a New Age rock star, and we gobbled it up.  Many of us said, “Shirley, that’s not new, but we praise you for saying it. Thank you. It’s about time someone did.”
 
But now I think many of us are tired of “New Age” processes, like hugging when we don’t want to hug, screaming when we don’t feel angry, and high-fiving strangers we don’t even like.
 
I think the  “New Age” trend has become stale. People are still hurting, still following old patterns of behavior that no longer serve them and that make them depressed.
 
I have for a long time railed at writers who spend pages and pages trying to convince me to have an open mind, when I am yelling, “Just tell me! Why the hell do you think I bought your book, I want to read what you have to say.”
 
And then along comes some straight talking folk like Jen Sincero who writes, “You have to have an open mind, then on second thought, I want to yell in your face STAY OPEN OR ELSE YOU ARE SCREWED.”
 
I love it.
 
 “We need people to feel happy and fulfilled and loved so they don’t take their shit out on themselves, and other people and the planet and our animal friends.”—Jen Sincero.
  Yep, my kind of a woman.

* Wonder Woman quote copied from somebody 

P.S. Thank you all you folks who checked in yesterday . Awesome.
PS.PS.  There is some new content of http:www.plottwist747.com Namely, Life on the Farm, "Let's talk About Poop."
Over and out, remember I love you.

Tribe

A tribe of Aborigines in the outback of Australia wake up each morning like little chicks, excited to see what the day will bring.

Imagine

A few years ago, a group here in Eugene Oregon, invited author Marlo Morgan for a potluck.  She was promoting her book Mutant Message Downunder where she chronicled her walk-a-bout across the outback of Australia with a group of 63 nomadic Aborigines.

Morgan’s book was criticized because authorities can’t find the tribe she spoke about or some of the spiritual sites she visited. She isn’t revealing their whereabouts because she doesn’t want the government to confiscate any of the people or sites they visited.

Those authorities believed her story was fiction.

Now, here’s a clinker, she was criticized by an Australian elder who said, “It damaged Aboriginal woman because Morgan had supposedly seen and done what Aboriginal women were spiritually and culturally forbidden to do.”

That sounds like a case for Supreme Court Justice Ginsburg—oh, rats, that’s out of her jurisdiction. 

Margo commented in an interview that these people have never endangered a species, never destroyed a rain forest, never killed a person, and they believe in Oneness, while civilization believes in separateness. 

Well now, there’s a reason to criticize her. If she made up her story as some claim, she did a darn good job.

Morgan said that once a year her particular tribe of aborigines go to the ocean, build a raft and go out to sea to play with dolphins. Morgan tried to tell them about a paddle, an oar, that would assist their paddling.  

“Why would we want to do that?” they asked.

“Well, to get you where you want to go.”

“But then we will have missed the Oneness.” (That is they trusted the Oneness to take them where they were meant to be. She rested her case.)

The Aborigines told her that if she was lying in bed at night and realized she hadn’t laughed during that day, to jump out of bed and do it.

I began to write about Marlo Morgan for the Travel spot in http://www.plottwist747.com, then quickly realized I was writing for Brunch for the Soul, see, I can’t help myself, it all blends. All I have to do now is throw in The Farm and Writing, and I’ll have what I’ve done for years on www.wishonwhitehorses.

I follow some bloggers who travel full-time, and they are not only escaping te cubicle and the mundane of life but, also to obtain a connection with the Oneness that Marlo speaks of—although they may not call it that. 

When traveling, we ought to run toward adventure, not away from problems.

This is the daily life of one lost tribe of Aborigines.

P.S. When I read Jeff Goins say what it takes to succeed in blogging I found myself coming up short.

 To succeed in blogging you need just four things, he said.

1.      A clear message

2.    A powerful platform

3.    A committed tribe

4.    A product to sell

You guys are my tribe, thank you.

My platform is shaky.

My message is unclear.

I have no product.

Well, one out of four isn’t too shabby.

 "You’re highly aware of what is happening, how things move from one day to the next, and how to flow with change.”

 –Caz Makepeace from YTravelblog.com

The Nervous Button Finger.

I did it. I pushed the “Send” button.

It took both hands to do it.

Not for this post, but for my manuscript, The Frog’s Song.

Holy Cow, I just heard a God-awful sound coming from the backyard.

It’s the peacock!

I hope his visit is a good omen.

My Frog’s Song editor suggested that I place the Leaving Hawaii Chapter (aka, “Screw It!”) nearer the end of the story. I had it in the middle. In Titanic, the ship hits the iceberg smack-dab in the middle of the movie. (Open a novel, and you’ll find something significant happening right in the middle.)

But here in The Frog’s Song we are going to build up to the leave.  So I’ve been doing the Froggie Shuffle—that is shuffling chapters while taking care that I didn’t say we were gone before we were.

Thus the nervous “Send” finger.

Editing in the Yard

With a Friend

Earlier in the day, to stretch my legs after many hours at the computer, I took a clumsy jog down the walkway in our backyard—a whole sum of 30 feet. As I turned around, there was a chicken at my heels. I trotted back to the house with Chick-a-dee waddling her cute little fluffy butt right behind me. 

We moved to this house a year ago, bringing Chick-a-dee and her sister with us, but alas, something absconded with sister. That left Chick-a-dee alone.

But not really alone. She has us, and she wants to be with us as much as possible. She sleeps on the back porch right outside our bedroom window, and she knows that Lafayette, my daughter’s dog, can push open the back door if I don’t lock it. Thus she is right on his heels and sneaks into the house if given half a chance.

The other day I found her in the front yard, happily pecking at a snail. After a peck she would wipe her mouth on the grass.—I guess eating snails is a sticky business.

On Sunday when daughter and grandson visited, Chick-a-dee stole a drink from my virgin strawberry Margaretta –that was before any snail slime had passed her lips.

Before this experience with Chick-a-dee, I had no idea that chickens could be so social. Our other three hens, penned in the chicken yard coop, squawk and run if I so much as drop a bucket. And catching them? Forget it.

We don’t really live on a farm, only one-third of an acre on the outskirts of town, but here I can legally have chickens. (I had Chick-a-dee and her sister illegally at our other house.) In Eugene, you can have chickens, but here in our little town, anything considered livestock is verboten. (Delusions of grandeur.)

You know what being out of the city limits means?

No sidewalks.

And here people walk a lot, esp. with their dogs, and we all walk down the middle of the street—much to Lafayette’s hound-dog announcing delight, but not to our ears.

After my rant in the last blog about being inadequate to write Brunch for the Soul, I’m doing it. I include it as one subject in http://www.plottwist747.com.

My daughter says I should write a blog where no one I know reads it, that way I wouldn’t censor myself, but I don’t think I am, so it doesn’t matter. If you censor yourself, because of what others might think, you aren’t worth a rip as a writer.

My care for the soul advice today is: avoid negativity—your’s, mine, the world's.  It isn’t possible all the time, and if it isn't, know that it does not belong on you. If you can raised your energy level, do it. Another option is to say, “I’m sorry for your pain,” and leave.

 “It’s not my monkey, not my circus.”

 The best advice I heard this week.

Ha.

Well, without planning to do it, I covered three subjects out of the four I intend to cover in Plot Twist—#Brunch for the Soul, (#Travel, nope, except that's what The Frog's Song is all about.)  #Life on the Farm, and #Writing.