There are those who think of me as ‘merely’ naive when it comes to things of spirit. Here, I ask they consider their own limitation of expression that appears bound by others’ ideas & ideals. The string of logic posed by quite a few is that I’ve not studied spiritualism, metaphysics, any aspect of any religion, and not living/speaking/healing/BE-ing within the bounds of someone else’s playbook. I’ve not sought out sages or saddhus, not read from mystics and mages, not wors
This post is inspired by two events last week. The first involved a session with a new client; the second, a reminder from Panache Desai to play like a five-year old. On Saturday, a new client came to see me for a number of reasons–some shared, some not. He happens to be an older gentleman, who during the session fully admitted he didn’t want to grow up (although wanted some adult action!) and, in fact, had a temper tantrum while on the table. Also on Saturday, Panache put
The other day I was struck with a string of questions. They didn’t necessarily emerge from any real, in-depth thought. Not things I’ve been ruminating on but they just came in a burst. A rather long one but what are you gonna do? Turn it off? Methinks not. So I put pen to paper and let it flow. Here’s what came: Why is it that some have such an issue with what I’ll call “just knowing” of the instant kind? We eat like instant oatmeal, instant communications, quick meals
Profound shifts in my life have occurred in the past few months. Personal choices coupled with the change in our economy led to a lot of free time during the course of the last year. Time that would have otherwise been spent devoted to other people’s problems or projects became time focused on me. My needs, my wants, my way of life, and, my purpose: the reason for being and surviving. As I asked to be told and demanded to be shown my path, I began to move beyond merely
It’s not hard to do, really. Put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and just do. I don’t know why I’ve just not done it. For years I’ve had the compulsion to buy journals of all shapes and sizes. They thin, thick, spiral bound and not, some with pretty covers, some just utilitarian. I’ve stacks of ’em. Every now and again I pull one out and write a line or page or three, then put it back down. Again, don’t know why. Then, I read A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas.