Debilitating delusion

Skipping breakfast to try to get this down before heading out. It’s something I’ve been thrashing over all month; it’s a struggle to put down in writing a debilitating quirk that’s derailed my best intentions through all my years. Attempts feel like trying to put a dream into words – the images are there, but the 3-dimensional language to express them evades me.

When my best friends get an idea that’s worth their time energy resources, they pursue it until the idea becomes reality – aka until it is completed & done. Along the way, they might decide it wasn’t worth their investment, that maybe it’s best done at a different time or not at all, in which case they might set it aside. Otherwise, they dig in, buckle up & knuckle down until they checked it off their to-do list. Because they get their greatest cosmic high from COMPLETION. My psychic high is in getting the idea, not in it being DONE. And that has been my undoing. Still is.

UPDATE: Had to stop writing to take John to an early a.m. thing, then headed down to grab a cafe au lait at my beloved Be Well Cafe. While there, got into a discussion with two wildly creative friends about ideas & focus. One friend doesn’t have the whoosh of ideas that come to me & the third person. I expressed my envy at her narrow focus, observing that when ideas are plentiful, follow-through can be hampered by fresh distractions.

The third friend’s face spoke volumes before she uttered a word. What I had described is not her reality. With her, an idea that aches to come out will haunt her until she makes it happen, brings it to completion, checks it off as DONE.

With that one comment, my debility delusion went pffffft. Disappeared in a whiff of smoke, leaving not so much as a pair of witch shoes behind. But I did half expect to find a pair of ruby red slippers on my feet, the sense of sudden, sweeping insight was so strong.

Could almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the ideas banging around my brain, thrilled to FINALLY be getting what I’d never thought to give – respect & honoring.

Sheez – I started out this morning not able to find the words to describe a debilitating delusion that’s dogged my days & VOILA – am delighted to be haunted by goals awaiting their debut.  Heather did just that – her comment shook my magnolias, utterly revamped my sense of creativity & creating.  My undoing is undone.


March – – Bih bye!

Here in SE Pennsylvania, March is the month when the first green shoots are visible. We delight in late February’s delicate snow drops, but March is when we glory in blankets of crocus & banks of daffodils, trees fuzzy with leaf buds, extravagantly magenta red bud trees, creamy white & pink magnolias.

March is also, historically, the darkest, darkest month for my family – my parents, my siblings & myself. It’s the month my grandfather died when Mom was nineteen, when my mother had a nervous breakdown at 46, when my 11-year old brother was killed when she was 49 & I was eleven, when Dad died at 63, when I got the boot from my dream teaching job, when Mom & Kerry had a disastrous communication debacle.  I can now add to that  litany “the month my oldest brother told me he wanted me to plan his memorial service.”

That sounds possibly bothersome, but dark & dank? Yes, so very yes.

My brother has not made any secret, at least to me, of his dislike. Per our mother, when a counselor they saw for one visit in the late 1990s remarked on the apparently tender relationship he had with my sister & asked if they had always been close, Peter replied, “No, it is recent.” As relayed to me by Mom, when the counselor asked what drew them together, Peter answered, “We discovered that neither of us liked Elsa (me).”

Now, Mom might have misrepresented what was said, but it rings true to me. Even as a little kid, I was under no delusion about Peter’s feelings; as an adult, I understood that my value to my to key sibs was determined by what I could do FOR them.

I strove for years to create some sort of relationship with my older sibs because, no matter what their feelings, I do family. Or perhaps more “I do relationship,” and see myself related to all living things. I didn’t help my sibs because I thought they’d like me or treat me as a blood relative, but because they were in need & that is what humans are meant to do.

But one comfort I had over the past four years of being there for Peter was that I would not have to plan his memorial, given I have no ties to the church he has attended for many years & that has been wondrously supportive of him since his health declined over the past decade. But he doesn’t plan on having it at The Church of the Messiah. He wants it at the Bryn Athyn Cathedral. And guess who has the connections there necessary to plan a memorial?

Although I understand that looking our mortality in the face can send us back to our childhood roots, I confess to thinking it is just plain scuzzy to ditch the church where people actually know himto have his memorial in one where he’s a stranger to anyone under seventy. And why? Because of long dormant childhood connections? He wasn’t married there, his children weren’t baptized there. His adult connections are to churches outside our faith. But it is a stunning building.

And once I got over the shock of being told what he wanted from me – took several days – I began to see the fun. Peter has certain music he wants, maybe favorite recordings – thank heavens, cathedral’s excellent sound system can handle any playlist, so whatever he wants can be woven into the prelude interlude postlude, with live organ for the hymns. And because the services are live streamed, Reynolds can watch from North Carolina, Scott from Georgia, Whitney can watch from Texas, Jim from Missouri, Karen P from Nevada, Angie from California, Mike & Kerry & Karen E from New South Wales.

This unwelcome request joins the litany of March’s dank moments. I hope when the time comes to do whatever it is that’s expected that I will turn this unwanted task into a moment my brother would have savored.

March has officially blended into April.  At last. Bih bye!




We waste so much energy trying to cover up who we are when beneath every attitude is the want to be loved, and beneath every anger is a wound to be healed and beneath every sadness is the fear that there will not be enough time.

When we hesitate in being direct, we unknowingly slip something on, some added layer of protection that keeps us from feeling the world, and often that thin covering is the beginning of a loneliness which, if not put down, diminishes our chances of joy.

It’s like wearing gloves every time we touch something, and then, forgetting we chose to put them on, we complain that nothing feels quite real. Our challenge each day is not to get dressed to face the world but to unglove ourselves so that the doorknob feels cold and the car handle feels wet and the kiss goodbye feels like the lips of another being, soft and unrepeatable.

Mark Nepo – The Book of Awakening

the place of the unified field

Snippets from Joe Dispenza’s Becoming Supernatural:

“All possibilities in the quantum field exist in the present moment as electromagnetic potentials – the generous present moment.”

“…You relax & allow a greater mind – the consciousness of the unified field – to organize an event that is right for you. You essentially get out of the way. ”

“In this place of the unified field, you’re actually becoming aware of what already exists & you’re bringing it to life with your attention & your intention. Here, you csn be a genius. You can be abundant. You can be healthy. You can be wealthy. You can have a mystical experience. You can create a new job. You can resolve a problem in your life.” ~ ~ Because, on the quantum level, they’re already reality, even when life seems its most sucko.

“If you’re unified with the consciousness & the energy of every body, every one, every thing, every place, and every time within a vast unified field of potentials, then observing a potential  in the quantum is just like becoming aware of your hand in the physical world – you’re already connected to it; it already exists.”

These snippets speak to me. Smiling with the sweet irony that I expected to be this HUGE influence in my Keet’s spiritual life – who, unlike me, wasn’t raised with a strong faith life – yet it’s he who’s profoundly transformed mine. Not flipping or shifting;  deepening & expanding.

So much in Becoming Supernatural reminds me of things John says observes ponders. Reading it feels like a homecoming ~ to a husband I didn’t fathom, a now I barely imagined. Our love is the most unified part, the most unifying energy, of my unified field.



A triquetra, or Trinity Knot,is a beautiful Celtic design of three interconnecting arcs that share a common central space.  Although it was used by Celtic Christians to symbolize the trinity, it significantly predates (500 BC!) Christianity. It has special importance as we approach Easter.

We used it last week as part of a Children’s Gathering Lenten project – fascinating how all of the children were immediately engaged by the design & enjoyed coloring in its different variations.

My thoughts were turned to the triquetra this a.m., reading Jen Sincero’s blurs on today’s page-a-day calendar, where she notes, “Good old awareness is your key to freedom. Once you realize that you can dramatically improve your situation by connecting with Source Energy and raising your frequency, you can frwkin’ do it already instead of opting to stay in the suck hole and feeling like a victim of pathetic circumstances.”

It was a sweet butt kick reminder of my very own triquetra of thought influencers, inner work movers & doers – – Jen, Joe & Mark. Jen Sincero, Joe Dispenza & Mark Nepo. Aka You Are a Badass page-a-day calendar 2019, Becoming Supernatural & More Together Than Alone. 

The three, which I am reading at this time, interconnect. Like the arcs in the triquetra, each is its own unique entity, but each brings a common something that creates a shared space for those open to experiencing it, a common nurturing ground – the generous present moment.

FACT: I believe in magic, defined as life working as it was created, which happens so rarely, it’s considered unnatural. The right word for life working as The Creator intended is supernatural – it is super & it’s natural!

Definitely gives me deep goosebumps how the three sources overlap to form a beautiful whole – Joe is not Mark is not Jen, but the three clarify & intensify the others’ voices.

Mere happenstance that I am connecting with all three at this moment? I think not! My thanks to an always generous, awake aware active Universe for such a rock ’em sock ’em trio  – mynpersonal triquetra  – infilling expanding energizing this here & now!

Staying present, not pretending

In More Together Than Alonediscovering the power & spirit of community in our lives and in the world, Mark Nepo writes – – ” Staying present & not pretending allows a space of truth that others can join.” One of the great truths of all truths.

How different life would be if we & others didn’t retreat to the false safety of seeing & hearing what we want rather than what was done & said. While it is essential to always remember that we often don’t have the full picture, often mess up & mangle what we’re hearing or seeing, it is so terribly destructive when we reject a difficult present moment & twist it beyond recognition by pretending it is something else.

Consider my early life. My parents were put through the torments of hell by me in elementary school. I comfortably lied, pleasantly cheated & often ignored homework assignments. This was in the very early 1960s – still heart & soul The Fifties – when people feared looking into the dark depths of the spirit. Mom & Dad apparently never asked themselves, “Why?”

Looking back as best I can ~ impossible to really see those single digit days through the eyes of my 67-year old self ~  two dynamics stand out, both of which hark back to core others being ill at ease in a present moment & their apparent fear of any space of truth.

It’s important to know that my next-older sibling died on Easter Monday 1959, playing at his best friend’s house. He was eleven, I was seven. My mother’s way of dealing with her youngest son’s shocking, sudden death was to block it out of her consciousness. Unfortunately, what helped soothe Mom’s heartbreak  was disastrous for me, her youngest child; I needed to process the tragedy as much as she seemed compelled to bury it.

There was no grief counseling in the late ’50s. The grief-consumed were expected to set it aside & move on. Totally the opposite of what someone like me needed.

The other possible factor, one that didn’t occur to me until my forties, long after John (a natural healer) came into my life, was that I facilely lied because lying was as much my natural home environment as water is for a fish. Being all big talk & very little do was what I experienced from sibs who were praised as exemplary.

After Ian’s death, my surviving sibs were eight, ten, fourteen years older than I was. Peter & Mim were revered as the brilliant ones, the academically gifted, the golden boy & girl of the family. But both were always more talk than do. What I heard & saw were two people who talked a good game but rarely took the field. So I didn’t either. I came up with terrific ideas for school projects & assignments, just never followed through with the DOING.  Was clueless at the time – thought I was as much a lost cause as others did.

Oh, the damage done because people could not stay present, were compelled to pretend,  seemed unsafe with allowing “a space of truth to open that others can join.”

Praise be, that just might be my John’s great gift. Staying present, allowing a space of truth to open.

Will never forget my first experience with an open space of truth. We’d been married a short time when, upset by something he had said, I unloaded on John. He looked at me, stunned, and asked, in a loving, firm & genuinely curious voice – “What is the matter?”

Those four words, spoken in a tender yet somehow neutral way,  left me drop-jawed, speechless, totally flummoxed. No one had ever asked me to share my truth, distressed or not.  ‘Whaaaaaaaat?” is all I managed to get out. Instead of getting testy with my dense response, he simply repeated, “What is the matter?”

I sputtered the reason for my unhappiness, something he had said that had left me feeling raw, vulnerable. My Keet looked at me, soaked it in, then responded with, “Oh, you heard me say….” & repeated, practically verbatim, what I’d sputtered, then continued, “What I meant to convey was…”  & went on to say what he’d hoped to get across, without blaming either one of us for the misunderstanding.

Reading Mark Nepo’s words leaves me feeling profoundly blessed, on many levels. With the rare opportunity to be in a family that so clearly demonstrated what happens when fear takes root & sheds toxic shade over everyone. With being someone who didn’t quietly poison myself with internalized messages received (many not intentionally sent), but instead kept acting out my angst until FINALLY a teacher came along who told me, not just my parents, the mid-60s equivalent of, “Girl, you are one hot mess!” ~ ~ words I’d been desperate to hear for six long years. With realizing my natural state was some unknown but out there BETTER . With all the incredible voices who – from & in & through so many expected & startling sources – helped lay down fresh track where I went off the rails.  With the miraculous friends who see in me someone who was a stranger to my own eyes & heart. With having the love of someone who is a heart shaman, a tender healer of my tattered spirit.

“Staying present & not pretending allows a space of truth to open that others can join.” My thanks to Mark Nepo for draping language over what I was born believing, yet could not – until now – fully express. What a blessing!