Did You Hear What You Just Said?

I see a counselor about once a month. I started seeing her about a year ago for a particular reason and issue I knew was going to be a difficult one for me. The issue very quickly became a moot point, but I have continued the counseling sessions because they are working for me. Once a month I have an hour to discuss (make that talk) about anything I choose, and know that I am being heard by an open ear that is not attached in any way to any of the “issues” I might want to elaborate on. That hour has become a priceless gift I give to myself.

Somewhere in Scripture, we are told that having many counselors is a good, if not wise thing to do. Many of us use our friends for that, but friends have emotional attachments and even agendas that might not allow them to be an open ear or detached from whatever outcome might be forthcoming. Thus, maybe more often than we would want to admit, we can ignore or dismiss what is offered in response. “Why did I even try to discuss that with her, she has no idea about my personal situation.”

We want to be heard because we want to know if we are making the ‘right’ choices or seeing all of the angles. We intuitively know that we are only one individual and can’t see all those angles or know all of the answers. So we talk, but do we listen?

Counseling was originally defined as the talking therapy. And although it does allow for ones talking to be heard, if we enter into it seeking to hear answers from outside of ourselves, we might be in trouble. But isn’t that the whole point of the process itself? I don’t think so.

I think the whole point of talking therapy is that we are allowed to hear what we ourselves are saying. When we talk to our friends there is always that emotional attachment to deal with. “What will she think if I tell her what I am really thinking? Will she still want to be my friend? What will he do if I allow him to know the truth (my truth)?” And all the different variations of that thought and emotional process.

That is not to say that our friends can’t be counselors in their own right. Personally, I think that should be one of the criteria we use when choosing them. Do they have similar views? Do they look at things from a wider range of experience and knowledge? Are they open to a difference of opinion without getting or being defensive? Perhaps, even more important, do I engage in those very elements? Do I work at listening with an accepting ear?

I saw my counselor yesterday. During our 55 minutes of shared time, I did at least 85% of the talking. She listened. We laughed, even shared a few tears (very happy ones) and she told me in a very few words how much I have been able to grow in my present circumstances, but also cautioned me about the very real dangers within those circumstances. I heard what she had to say, but more importantly, knew that I had been heard. And because I had been listened to, I also heard what I had said.

That in turn, had me thinking about what I want to do with today. Several things occurred to me that might not have if I hadn’t gone to that appointment yesterday. It made me aware of some things that I might not otherwise have considered and am actually thinking about doing. Somehow, in all of that talking, I was sorting out the things that are important to me. The person I am and the one I am becoming.

I also keep a daily journal. It is the first thing I do each morning, or at least as soon as circumstances allow. That is also aimed at allowing me to have this ongoing dialogue with myself. To speak my mind and to listen to what I am really all about. It also seems to fuel those other conversations with my counselor. I usually have at least one topic in mind when I settle down in her office, but then am amazed at all of the highlights we manage to cover in that very short 55 minute span. They are there, waiting and ready, because they were important enough to make those earlier notes during the preceding days and weeks since the last time.

My  counselor is not my friend. She never will be. She is my counselor and is present to remind me of that all important big question: “Did you hear what you just said?” And to help me know that all the answers are there inside of me. I just have to find them and let them out. That can’t happen unless I make the effort to listen to what I myself am saying. She provides the space in which I can do that and I am so very grateful that she does.

Do you have a counselor? What do you really think and feel about seeing someone who listens, allowing you to hear what you just said?

Tricks and Treats

I went on an adventure this morning and never left home. I have been sick with a cold for several days and experiencing the decided blahs of a semi-depressive mood that has fogged my emotions, as well as my mental state. It hasn’t been pleasant to watch myself return to the occupation of couch potato, turning away from people and activities other than television and suspense novels.

This morning, in an attempt to pull myself out of that couched position, I visited the sites of a few internet friends. It became a step-by-step process of self-awareness. And ended in a bit of poetry. No one was more surprised than me. It has been a while since I have even attempted to put words into some sort of poetic form. And I could, but will not, bore you with the list of excuses I created for that absence, or lack of activity in my landscape.

And it was the last thing I intended to do as a result of taking this tangential journey this morning. The journey itself was simply a distraction meant to somehow prove that although almost non-functional, I still did exist somewhere in this keyboard arena. In other words, I was feeling a bit guilty. I haven’t been visiting the sites of others, let alone my own. So, of course, instead of coming here, I decided it was time to go see what others were doing and perhaps leave a comment,  at least proving my own presence.

I started with Diddums.http://diddums.wordpress.com/ Her blog was about Halloween costumes and how they have evolved and actually changed the face of that particular holiday. I didn’t leave a comment because I got lost in a train of thought that went something like this: we all wear costumes every moment of every day. What if one morning we all awoke and refused to wear them? Would that be a disaster or, a forward step in our own evolution?

My next stop was Shannon Writes http://shannonwrites.wordpress.com/ . I had been there about a week ago, but had not stopped to read her explanation for the site. This time I left a comment because her statements hit me where it counts most. I am a Writer and thus, a Magician.

Thinking about that reality and how much I miss writing poetry, I then went to Farah’s place http://pearlsfrompain.wordpress.com/ , only to find bright splashes of color instead of the poetry I was expecting. Color, being my second love, after words, brought my mood even further toward  happy than I have been in some time. Hey, I was actually smiling by then.

No internet  journey is quite complete, for me, without a stop to see what SL has created http://unguarded–utterance.blogspot.com/ . Can you say, “The Big Bang?” Whew! Nothing like getting hit in the head or having a wall suddenly fall on top of you while you are innocently distracting yourself from what you know you should be doing, but haven’t a clue how to even begin. The poem wrote itself directly from that step-by-step journey I had just taken. I left it right there in SL’s comments, then posted it on my poetry site http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/

Happy Halloween. It’s really great when you can trick yourself into a treat that just happens to be exactly what you needed, but also allows you to disgard that couch potato costume you have been slipping into every waking moment. And a deep thank you, to all of my internet  friends.

Trusting Your Instincts

 

About two months ago, I eagerly signed up and paid an entrance fee to take part in what is called The Sketchbook Project. You can find out about it and other projects at http://arthousecoop.com/  It sounded like fun and something I would enjoy doing.

For the entry fee, one receives a sketchbook to fill by a certain deadline, as well as a theme to focus the work inside of the sketchbook. This isn’t limited to simple drawings. There are books that have been made into three dimensional objects, collage, quotes, etc. Although I wasn’t really thrilled with the theme that was randomly attached to my sketchbook, I began planning on how to fill the pages and just what I might want to do.

Then came the glitch. The sketchbooks were placed on back order and the wait turned into weeks and then well over a month. Meanwhile, the ideas began to fade and life went on in other directions. I finally received the sketchbook just over a week ago. Opened and looked at it, and put it aside because I had other things to do.

I had tried to encourage others to join the project, but only one person showed any interest. She paid the entrance fee and like me, began waiting for her sketchbook to arrive filled with ideas and ways of executing them. And like me, her life went on in other directions.

She called me, the morning before last, and our discussion of the sketchbooks and the whole project didn’t go very well. We didn’t like the sketchbooks, they were much smaller than we had hoped for, the covers weren’t what we had been expecting, and so on. I finally admitted that I wasn’t sure I was going to follow through with any of it. Didn’t know if my schedule would allow for that kind of time and focus, even though the deadline had been extended because of the mix-up with the sketchbooks. She sounded disappointed and we left it there and went on with our separate doings.

Yesterday morning, in the course of finally responding to an email, I found myself writing about the Project and all of my feelings. Most of them were simply discomfort at what I had gotten myself into and doubts about my own ability to follow through on it at this point. In other words: excuses. Too much time had passed between that original eagerness, all of those ideas, and the reality of actually doing the thing. Lots of time for all those old habits of self-doubt to emerge and set up house-keeping.

With each logical ‘reason’ I created not to proceed, I could also hear the disappointment in my good friend’s voice. It got a bit heavy and by the time I finished the email, I could see the real reasons for my stalling and hesitation. Then something occurred that prevented me from engaging in my plans for the rest of the afternoon. I picked up that smaller, theme-oriented sketchbook and looked at all those blank pages. Then picked up one of my favorite pens and began doodling. Within an hour I had one finished page and went on to do a second. It was fun, actually quite exciting as all of that original eagerness and those ideas began to emerge from the darkened shadows of my own self-doubt.

I promptly scanned in the two completed images and sent them off to my friend, hoping to squelch the disappointment and to encourage her to do the same. Haven’t heard back from her yet, but have regained my own focus and original commitment to the Project itself.

When completed, the sketchbook will be mailed back to The Art House Co-Op and will become a part of a permanent library collection, as well as going on tour to diverse libraries throughout the United States. Along with the sketchbook, entering the Project allows me a site to display my work and any other work I might take part in. I, and my sketchbook will be a part of all of that. Whew!

What does any of this have to do with Intuition? A great deal. My original response to the project was deeply positive and, at the time, I was eager to participate. Yet, that delay was important as well. Waiting is never easy and it becomes difficult to sustain those original impulses fed to us by our intuition. That doesn’t make them bad choices, or even incorrect ones. Most often it simply means there is needed time for further preparation. Part of my personal preparation was to work through my own level of self-doubt concerning my skills and abilities.

Last night, after completing those first two images, I was filled with a level of satisfaction and once again focused on taking this next step in my own process. I relaxed by watching the current episode of The Mentalist. In this episode, the main character, James, repeated a phrase several times framed within that knowing grin he is apt to express. Each time he repeated the phrase, I found myself nodding my head and grinning right back at him.

The phrase? “You must always trust your own instincts.” It took some time, but I did that yesterday. Do you?

Getting Outside The Comfort Zone

 

8/13/09

…people see what they expect to see and they find reasons for oddities to protect the comfortable order and predictability of their lives.

A Tangled Web
___Judith Michael

I have taken to carrying a sketchbook with me. I doodle, using Artists pens and colored ink. I do not set out to create a realistic image, but simply play with repetitive lines and patterns. I very seldom have more than a vague idea in my head when I begin and am often surprised at what occurs and the eventual outcome.

When people see me thus engaged, they often ask what I’m doing. I tell them the truth, “I’m doodling, playing with the colors, lines and patterns.” And as these same people look through the sketchbook, they invariably point at something and tell me what they see, then look at me with a question, “Am I right?”

And, most often, I laugh. Of course they are right. They see what they see and I wasn’t aiming at a realistic reproduction of anything to begin with. I’ve even watched others engage in debates, flipping the sketchbook this way and that, pointing out details to support their interpretations which are usually far removed from one another. Then the debaters turn to me and ask that same question. Again, I laugh and tell them they are all correct. It’s only a collection of lines and color, a balance between dark and light. But, I find that whole scenario fascinating.

Each individual has a level of need to interpret what they see, to make sense of their own experience. Not just with my sketchbook, but with every moment of their experience. When we can’t interpret and make sense of what is happening, we feel a certain dis-ease, uncomfortable, and that in turn, makes us feel less safe, less secure.

The above quote is from a novel about identical twin sisters who decide to swap lives for a week. It is a delicious little secret they share with no one. Something happens and the deception must be prolonged, and eventually one sister dies. The remaining sister opts to stay inside the deception and it is her realization that is quoted above. She makes mistakes with friends and family, but others explain away the gaffes and incongruities in order to make sense of their own realities.

We all do that on some level. Choosing to ignore what doesn’t make sense, dismiss it, or explain it away. That can get us into trouble, but we still choose to do it because it allows us to proceed inside of our own comfort zone. That comfort zone is what we know, it is the filter through which we see and experience everything else we come into contact with.

Reality is, if we stop and question that experience, we might be called on to act in a way that is also uncomfortable, maybe even unknown. Most of us would prefer not to have to do that. So we ease ourselves through whatever is happening by explaining it in terms we can accept and feel comfortable with, as the characters in the novel do.

I have already written about ways to stay open and in the present moment. My sketchbook is doing that for me. I am always looking for new and different patterns of line and shape. Experimenting as I travel through this new realm of possibilities. It has helped me to realize that I have often chosen just such activities for that very reason. I may not have consciously known that was what I was doing, but once again, I am aware that my “play” has a distinct purpose and form. A shape that seeks balance and harmony.

In his book, The Gift of Fear, Gavin De Becker explains that the most basic reason for our developed intuition is to keep us alert and aware in a world that is filled with the unexpected and sometime inexplicable. But, because we have civilized that world, creating rules and regulations, many of us have let the further development of those intuitive processes lag because it takes concentrated effort to develop anything and there are some who actually believe that intuition is no longer necessary to survival.

We have done the same on a personal level, using our past experience to explain or define our present moments, sometimes blocking our own growth and knowledge to remain inside of our comfort zones. We are in danger of losing our intuitive edge because we have civilized our filter of experience.

Stepping outside of our chosen boxes isn’t easy. It can make us uncomfortable and ill at ease. Give us that feeling of being unsafe. Even though I really enjoy what I’m doing inside my sketchbook, each blank page I face off with, contains a bit of those feelings. There was a time, many years ago, when I would have stopped what I am doing because so many others have questioned it, looked perplexed while viewing those pages. Want to know what its purpose is, and what ultimate product I am seeking.

Now, I am okay with saying I don’t know, won’t know until I arrive at whatever destination awaits me. In the meantime, I am as interested in what people find and define inside the sketchbook as they are in doing just that. If nothing else, it makes for fun and interesting conversation, and that isn’t a bad goal in and of itself.

I didn’t begin using the sketchbook with the idea of honing my intuitive skills. The urge to get the sketchbook sort of puzzled me at the time, but it was something I had actually wanted to do for years but didn’t really understand why. It was something I had to talk myself into and give myself permission to do. Then continue to do so in order to maintain and satisfy the urge that got me going in the first place.

Now, although I am comfortable with the sketchbook and enjoy the process I have entered, I find that I am learning a new language inside those lines and colors. A language that informs those deeper areas of intuition and function. I am definitely operating outside the box of my normal comfort zone, and indirectly encouraging others around me to do the same in small ways. I have, without consciously thinking about it, invited myself to see the unexpected and am getting comfortable in doing so.

What do you do that takes you outside of your own comfort zone?

 

Encounter With A Squirrel

 

For at least the near future, my posts here will probably be rather sporadic. Family crisis has a tendency to do that sort of thing. However, as I can, I will come here and write whatever comes to mind. Today, I’d like to tell you about a squirrel I met several days ago and the message he brought to me.

Early that morning, I wrote in my journal. My habit is to do one typed page, single-spaced, each day. But, that morning I had a stream of consciousness that pulled me into and down another page. I have often written here, about how memory is stored and available to our intuition and that in turn our intuitive abilities can make rapid associations and connections with that material. That is exactly what happened that morning.

I had started out to complain about the current situation (better done on paper, in private, than exploding out ones mouth), but then hit a memory and another and another. I followed them and discovered that I was prepared for the situation unfolding around me because I had been through similar experiences and done some exploring and studying concerning it.

That doesn’t mean I was confident about the role I would be engaged in, but far less fearful on many levels. No two situations are exactly the same but each one holds its own surprises, and particular lessons. Simply put, I felt a lot more at ease and hopeful than when I had begun the journal entry.

Later that day, while sitting quietly on the patio outside my Mother’s apartment, more of those memories surfaced and continued to inform the present situation. As I sat there, my eye was caught by movement alongside the brick wall of the building housing the apartments. It was a fast moving squirrel with a rather large bushy tail, and he was moving with determination and focus, aimed at the patio where I was sitting.

When he hit the patio, he slid along the concrete as though he were completing an exhilarating home run. He came to a stop, spread-eagled flat against the patio surface. He then raised his head and seemed to survey the area like the king who might own it. He seemed particularly pleased with himself and his present position. I wondered what he would do when he finally realized that I was sitting less than ten feet from where he was playing monarch of the hill.

He seemed to finally realize that all was not as it should be in his little patch of the world, cocking his head at several different angles, staring in my direction as I sat perfectly still watching him. And then, I did the unforgivable. I used my tongue to “tsk, tsk,” at him. It was as though he had been shot from a canon as he leapt from the patio, crossed a stretch of grass and raced up into the safety of a near-by tree branch. All in about the time one uses to blink an eye.

I imagined, if he’d had the ability to speak, I would have heard an alarming screech of something like, “Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiit!” I laughed out loud at the image. Once he was safely ensconced in the nook of the tree branch, he turned back to me and began to scold me loudly for disrupting his moment of pleasure. He was definitely not a happy camper. That only made me laugh even more.

Squirrels are a symbol of being prepared. They spend a great deal of time searching out and burying food for the coming winter months when scavenging is extremely difficult. They are a particular message to those of us who need to be reminded that although the present moment might be filled with bright warm sunshine, the coming days might not hold such wonderful temperatures and preparation is a good and practical idea, as well as necessary for survival.

I realized that my stream of memories was a squirrel type thing, a sort of preparation informing me that I could and would be able to get through the coming weeks and months without going insane. But, my little friend showed me that we can’t always be completely prepared. Shit happens, and usually when we least expect it. Too much confidence can set us up for a harsh awakening when just such things occur.

There is an old wives’ tale that when squirrels appear in the fall months with extra large bushy tails, it means that the coming winter will be particularly harsh and difficult. I got the message. I may, in the moment, be somewhat prepared for what is coming, but a little extra awareness will not come amiss. Otherwise, I might be in danger of using up a great deal of my limited energy, scolding the circumstances and simply making a lot of unnecessary noise, complaining about things that are better kept on paper and in private.

Creativity and Intuition

 

Yesterday, I came here after being away for several weeks due to illness and a family crisis, as well as a computer breakdown. It was my intention to write about an experience I had while all that other busyness was going on. I wrote the article, here on site, but as I was copying it for my own files, I hit the wrong key and the whole article disappeared. It had been completely deleted.

Didn’t have time to go back and try it again, so decided to leave it til this morning. The article was about the incredible role our intuition plays in our creative endeavors. Because our intuition stores so much of our experience, while we are in the creative ‘zone’, it has our entire lifetime experience to use to move us through that process. Making those rapid fire connections, sometimes makes that process seem like a bit of magic, almost mystical in some ways.

I recently bought a sketchbook to use for doodling. As I have worked through those blank pages, one at a time, I have been repeatedly surprised and fascinated by what has been happening. The sketchbook has literally become a journal of images and marks the path of my ‘doodling’ journey and all the steps within that process. Each image seemed to prompt and build the next one.

The sketchbook came with 80 blank pages and there are only four of those remaining. I have ordered new sketchbooks and lots of new pens because the end of this first book is far from the end of my journey. What I find especially fascinating is that it actually allows me to see my own intuition at work, one image and step at a time. And, it also marks the path of the synchronicity that is also present in the creative process and journey.

One evening, while doodling, I wasn’t particularly happy with the results that were appearing on the page. But, I continued with the hopes that the end result might be more pleasing. Near the end of what I considered a not so good image, I flipped the sketchbook on its side to more easily get to the final section of the whole piece.

That new perspective was mind boggling and absolutely delightful. Without any conscious thought, I had created an image from a poem I had written nine years before. A poem that always made me smile and delighted me because it was about a moment of relationship with my then four year old granddaughter.

The next morning, as I was reading a Jeffery Deaver novel titled The Devil’s Teardrop, I came upon this quote:

…Parker Kincaid believed in the psychological connection between our minds and our hands: personality revealed not by how we form letters… but through the substance of what we write and draw when we’re not really thinking about it. How we take notes, what little pictures we make in the margins when our minds are occupied elsewhere.

I had drawn the entire image from the side perspective. It was just a random pattern of repetitive lines and color. Just an attempt to find balance in those lines and color. Yet, here was an image that held a great deal of meaning for me on a personal level. As well as a message that I currently needed to hear in my present circumstances.

The quote made me dig out that old poem and really read it carefully. Inside of it, I found a message that would help me get through all the chaos and confusion that had seemed to be interrupting my current existence. A message that my four year old granddaughter had told me nine years before.

Besides all of that, the experience gave me something to write about after being absent from my blogs for weeks. Lengthy interruptions of the sort I had been experiencing can really jam up the flow. It’s hard to get back inside the rhythm and thought process after being away for any amount of time. Yet, my intuition stepped in and handed me a solution that covered whatever concern I might have had about any or all of it.

Creativity is play time, no matter how serious the individual may feel or think about that process. When we play, our minds are free to wonder and our intuition is free to insert new connections and ideas. And it will and does, sometimes with delightful and surprising outcomes. Do you allow yourself to play on a regular basis? If not, why not?

If you are interested, some of my sketchbook journey can be found at:
http://1sojournal.wordpress.com/
The poem and the image can be accessed at:
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/

Hope you enjoy, I certainly have.

Katherine/Beatrice and A Little Bird Named Betty

 

It is very difficult, at times, to stay inside the present moment. One of the functions of Intuition, is to help the individual to do just that, by reminding us of things past, or stretching us toward the future and further possibilities.

My last post here was about a Golden Eagle named Katherine/Beatrice. She is one of the wild creatures that inhabit my Personal Mythology. In the course of writing about how I came to meet and know her, I was reminded of the details of her story. How, because she was held in captivity from birth, she never learned how to fly and had to be taught to do so. Her teacher was a small speckled hen more suited to the ground, but who could, on occasion, lift herself in flight for a short space of time.

Both of these winged wonders were aspects of my own personality. Katherine/Beatrice was a symbol of my spirit, while the small speckled hen was that spirit encased in the earth-bound reality of a human body. Within the details of their story I could see my own reality of owning a spirit meant to soar, yet held in place by the physical limitations of human existence. Yet, these two were dependent on one another, and actually saved each other in their combined story.

At the end of my last post, I wrote that Katherine/Beatrice had come in the present moment with a purpose that I needed to take a closer look at. It was important now. She was here to remind me of her original story and how she learned to fly one small step at a time.

Over the past months, I have found that my anger level has been growing and creating a great deal of disruption in my existence. At first, as we often do, I aimed that anger outward and struggled really hard to control it so as not to do harm to others or myself. Then it occurred to me that I needed to do something more than just brood about my current situation. I needed to act to counter what was happening.

I started small, simply exploring what seemed to be, at least, a simple solution. I was aware that I had a very limited amount of mobility and was seeking some small way to end that reality. But, as I explored that possibility, others began to appear. Within a short (about two weeks) space of time, I went from looking at a used scooter to buying a car. That seems like a rather huge leap, but I needed to take those steps one at a time.

I had become rather accustomed to my lack of mobility, resigning myself to that reality, and not always very gracefully. Meanwhile, my circumstances had changed, but that actuality hadn’t quite caught up to the mindset of immobility. I was frustrated and using a great deal of my energies in blaming others for my inability to go and do things I wanted to do when I wanted to do them. Sounds a bit like a certain Golden Eagle who had all the built in equipment for flight, yet kept her wings folded because she simply didn’t know what they were capable of doing: lifting her skyward and soaring.

It also reminds me of how little we understand the function and reality of our own intuitive abilities and possibilities. Like that little brown speckled hen, keeping her head down while she pecks the earth and seldom looking up to the heavens for another path she could follow. As far as she was concerned, her wings were only meant for short bursts of activity in emergency situations only. But, when her friend Katherine/Beatrice was trapped and possibly dying, she found those other paths and used them.

So it is with our Intuition. Most often, we associate it with imagination, thinking those nudges are simply flights of fancy, wishful thinking to be ignored or dismissed, so we can get on with getting on. Thereby, completely missing some of the most important messages we may ever receive.

If I had failed to take note of this present message that Katherine/Beatrice and the little brown speckled hen were bringing, I might still be brooding and grousing over my lack of mobility. Instead, I’m planning a trip to visit friends and my grandchildren. Also aware that I had a great deal to do with creating that former situation. I definitely needed the push of their presence to see my own responsibility, or lack thereof.

Their story is my story and still retains a great deal to be learned. By the way, the little brown speckled hen is named Betty. That was my name throughout childhood and early adulthood. I switched to my baptismal name of Elizabeth when I discovered that Betty has no literal meaning. I was seeking meaning for my own person and the name Elizabeth has that in large quantities.

The little brown speckled hen is a personal symbol of my intuitive abilities. I have given her that name and she is loving the fact, preening herself, her feathers, and her wings. Together, we have found and established her meaning. Something we can both take pride in as we move through this new freedom she has helped me to find. The clear and obvious link, bond, between her and my spirit (Katherine/Beatrice), is one that allows me a much wider range of choices, as well as movement and action.

All birds, no matter their origins, are symbols of spiritual messengers. They move between the earth and heavens, carrying their particular messages between those two planes. Intuition is also a messenger. One that allows us to stay alert in the present moment, by sometimes reminding us of past experiences and what we have learned, and that might be useful now and in the future. And our spirit depends on those messages that are so often easily ignored.

Do you listen to those messages?

Personal Mythology (symbolism)

 

I recently wrote another blog, http://1sojournal.wordpress.com/  about my adventures in my imaginary Creativity Closet. In the course of doing so, I was reminded that one of my original purposes for starting this blog was to write about my Personal Mythology and its symbolism. I intend to do some of that this morning and will include others in the forthcoming weeks.

Each of the creatures and characters within my Mythology are products of my imagination. However, they also come from my own intuitive knowing and thus, capture a great deal of symbolic meaning. Meaning that is pertinent to my journey through life, but also has some value to the world in general.

Spontaneous imagery is just what its name implies: spontaneous images that come unbidden to the individual and are often direct messages from the intuitive faculties. Our minds most often speak to us in pictures and images. If we fail to learn some of the symbolism involved in those images, we may spend our time missing some of the most important messages we may ever receive.

My encounters with the wild creatures that inhabit my imagination, didn’t only happen when I was in my bedroom attempting to meditate. Because I used my imagination often and paid attention, the images often came at odd moments, no matter my particular location during that time period. That is how it was with Beatrice, a very angry Golden Eagle.

I was taking a lunch break from my job at a new/used bookstore. I was seated alone at a small table in a diner around the corner from my work place, eating my lunch. I looked up and saw her perched on the back of one of the stools lining the diner’s counter. She was obviously a product of my imagination as she was far larger than her physical counterparts. And she was extremely agitated.

She was on a very short leash, a metal cuff that encircled her right leg and was attached by a very heavy chain. She would spread her huge wings and try to lift off her perch, but the chain wasn’t allowing her any movement and she would flop back in place, screeching her indignation.

I spoke to her in my mind. She immediately swiveled her head in my direction, pinning me in my seat with that fierce gaze that only eagles seem to own. Now all that anger and frustration were aimed at me. Whew! And I knew why. She was a product of my imagination, come to tell me that I had chained some part of my own personality so that it couldn’t move freely, or as originally intended. I even knew which part. Eagles are the very essence of spirit. That is what they symbolize as they soar between earth and the heavens.

Needless to say, I was appalled to think that I had somehow chained my own spirit, preventing it from moving in any direction it needed to go. But, this bird was extremely large and also extremely angry about her current situation. At first, I spoke to her in a somewhat hesitant manner, apologizing for my unwitting actions of the past that had bound her so cruelly. She simply continued to lean forward and stare at me in that uncompromisingly fierce manner.

I had to make a decision. This was my imagination so I could set her free with little effort. But, I would have to move in close to those wicked looking talons to do so and the thought was a bit heart-stopping. As I spoke more easily to her, I asked her her name and was given not one, but two. The first was Katherine, the second was Beatrice.

The decision was made, and in my mind I carefully approached her and unlocked the cuff that held her captive. She waited until I moved out of harm’s way and then launched herself straight out the window of the diner and into the sky high above. I left my forgotten lunch and walked slowly back to the bookstore.

That evening I looked up the meanings of the two names. Katherine means pure. That is not necessarily the purity attached to innocence or ignorance. It isn’t about chastity either. It is about the purity of choices one makes as one travels through life. The ability to discern which choices are best, not only for ones own person, but also for those one makes contact with on that journey. Beatrice means voyager through life, blessed.

The message of those two names combined was quite clear. I had made choices that had muddied, perhaps even overshadowed my own path. I needed to correct that reality and began to do so. Added to that was a wonderful piece of synchronicity.

A few days after my diner experience, I came into work to discover a box of books that my employer had left for me to put up on the shelves. They were used books that he had obviously bought from a customer. One of them was a book about a Golden Eagle, and how a father and son set to work to train her to come to arm when signaled. The book is Gifts of An Eagle, and was written by Kent Durden. It was published in 1972 and although it is no longer in print, it can sometimes be found for sale, or located in libraries.

It has been years since I read the book, but still have a copy of it. I didn’t read it alone. Katherine/Beatrice accompanied me through its pages, telling me bits and pieces of her own story with images. Her story is obviously a portion of my own, versed in symbolism that I could not only understand, but also relate to my own experiences.

Personal Mythology is an important aspect of Intuition. Naming is another, as is story. Names are a type of definition and they can guide one in certain paths that might otherwise be missed. Stories are humankinds oldest teaching tools, whether they are cultural, universal, or personal. They contain a great deal of information about ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ choices, and can guide one through the process of ones own personal journey in numerous and untold ways.

My experience with Katherine/Beatrice took place more than twenty-five years ago. It remains vivid and detailed in my memory. I now need to go back and reread the book. After all, I figure she came into my present awareness for a reason and purpose. I intend to listen.

A Wish List

 

“When it is the right thing, all the details fall into place and happen smoothly and with a certain ease.” A neighbor, a very casual acquaintance, said that to me last night, after I had told him about my day. Although I know and believe that to be true, his words felt like a validation of my experience. In the midst of all the activity, it had slipped my mind, and I felt that his statement was a perfect cap on a rather exciting and wonderful occurrence.

I have desired a very specific thing for five years. Had pretty much decided it just wasn’t going to come about. But, it all fell into place yesterday, with an ease that was stunning and had definite euphoric effects. I am still pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming, and may continue to do so for some time.

I have been following and acting on the signs and symbols, many of which didn’t really seem connected to this particular goal. Yet, now when I look back, I can clearly see how each thing that occurred and was acted on, was necessary to the process. Although the actual goal came about with simple ease, some of those steps were hard and difficult and fraught with a high level of stress, especially emotional agitation, and a great deal of self-doubt and time wasted in second guessing.

What occurred yesterday was the culmination of several lessons I needed to learn and to act upon. But, each time I remember my neighbor’s observation, I can see each of those lessons and how I needed to walk through them, and the deep abiding value of doing so. These are not lessons about reading, writing, or ‘rithmetic. They are lessons about self and becoming whatever it is possible to be.

Julia Cameron, in her book The Artist’s Way, asks her reader to do a simple exercise (amongst many others). It is called a wish list, and she explains that because wishes are only wishes, they can be as frivolous, or as earnest, as the reader will allow them to be. It is to be done quickly without a great deal of thought or holding back. I just looked at the list I had written, in the space provided, well over ten years ago.

Two things jumped out at me. This current goal isn’t even on the list (wasn’t a necessity at the time), and about half of those wishes have been fulfilled. There are blank spaces for 19 wishes, and I can easily check off eight of them as current realities within my existence. I can also see how the current goal will be necessary to fulfill a good portion of the rest. And yes, there are some that are positively impossible, but I love the fact that I wrote them down and knew, even back then, that they weren’t possible. One simply can’t go back and be 19 again.

I write off the cuff. That means I come here and write, often not knowing exactly what I’m going to write about and just moving on whatever comes up. After the first couple of paragraphs, this morning, I kept hearing Cameron’s name in my head, but couldn’t figure out how it fit with what I was writing about. So, I simply stopped writing, picked up the book and let it fall open. It fell open to the wish list exercise.

I love how intuition works. It is also important to know that I haven’t ever looked at my response to that exercise since that long ago moment when I wrote it to fill in the blanks and get on with reading what Cameron had to say. When I do pick up the volume, I am looking for her words, not my own, so have a tendency to skip over my own responses.

Wishes and goals seem to be two different things, but are they? Wishes are often no more than passing thoughts we would like to see happen, or experiences we would sort of like to encounter, but often doubt we will. The word goals seems far more actively involved, thought out, and pursued. A concentrated effort. But, if we actually listen and heed our own intuition, the two can and do blend and become the same. Every goal started out as no more than a wish.

I think the wish list exercise is an important one, especially in the arena of intuitive faculties. Writing out the list, without a great deal of thought, actually allows our intuition to come to the surface and make our deeper, often hidden, desires far more concrete.

There is also that old saying that one should be careful about what is wished for, after all, it might actually come to pass. But, the same thing can be said about goals. If we put all of our energies into accomplishing a particular goal, after attaining it, we might find that we missed a great deal of life in that process. We can easily decide that although some things might be nice, we just don’t have the time for them (because we are far too busy pursuing that goal), and shelf them for later. But then, wake up to know that later is no longer possible.

If goals begin as wishes, it might be important to make a periodic wish list. Our intuition might throw us an occasional frivolous wish that turns out to be a well planned goal that brings about great satisfaction and definte ease in finding and having the fulfillment we all desire. One that allows us to become what we thought was no more than wishful thinking.

An Egret and A Hawk

 

Haven’t been here for a while. Got the chance to take a short vacation and traveled to the city in which I lived for almost forty years. It was a spur of the moment opportunity and I grabbed it with eagerness. It is about a three hour trip by car, one way. Had fun, saw a lot of people, did a lot of talking, laughing, and had a major surprise, and a few small ones.

Am always on the lookout for large birds when I make that trip. It is not unusual to spot 15 to 20 hawks perched atop telephone and utility poles. Turkey buzzards, eagles, herons, and an occasional crane winging it through the sky are not unusual as well. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy the trip. However, this time, as I drove south, we only saw one lone hawk on the entire trip. That was unusual and one of my passengers even remarked about the scarcity.

The major surprise was that I got to spend two afternoons with someone I hadn’t seen, face to face, in over twelve years. This particular individual played a very important role in my existence and not only because she was the one who originally started me down the path of exploring the significance and symbolism to be found in spontaneous encounters with birds and other wild creatures.

The first moment she spoke, those twelve years vanished. It was like picking up a conversation that had started the day before. And we talked none stop. Not about catching up, but anything that came into our minds. The topics ranged from philosophy to the movie The Mall Cop. Needless to say it brought back tons of memories and lots and lots of emotions. It was a deeply soul satisfying experience.

On the trip home, no longer the driver, but a passenger in the back seat, I was sort of lost in a flood of images from the past days, the people, the words, the laughter, and the feelings. At some point, a thought occurred to me about the individual I just mentioned and something that I thought perhaps the Universe was inviting me to do. It was startling only because it seemed to come out of the blank nowhere of that flood of images of the days just passed.

It wasn’t a surprise, it has happened before. I didn’t hesitate because it felt absolutely right. In my mind, I quietly agreed to follow through on the invitation, but with a calm request that I be given specific directions. There was incredible peace about the whole thing.

Lost in this moment of introspection, I hadn’t been paying much attention to the blurred landscape outside the window I was seated next to. I looked up to see a Great Blue Heron flying high above that landscape. They are easy to spot and wonderful to watch in the air. As I did so, the bird slowly turned in my direction and the sun hit it directly. It wasn’t a Heron, it was a Snowy Egret, a closely related member of the same bird family. Which means that the Egret carries the same symbolism as the Heron.

The message of the Heron is about fierce self-determination and reliance. As that thought passed through my head, I almost laughed out loud because of what I had just been thinking. But, with no more than a split second of a pause, I also saw a Hawk perched atop a telephone pole facing in the same direction as the Egret was flying. West, the direction of the Future and the Unknown. The message of the Hawk is to remember who you really are.

Alerted, I now kept an eye on the passing trees and farmland. Didn’t see another bird for the rest of the trip. I felt that I had been given, not only an acknowledgement of my acceptance, but also a very definite message about my request for specific directions. It was all too synchronistic to ignore.

After arriving home, unpacking and settling in, I got out my copy of Animal- Speak by Ted Andrews. It is put out by Llewellyn Worldwide Publishing, and although not well proofread, it has some very good information in it. The Egret is found in the section on the Heron.

It reflects a need for those with this totem to follow their own innate wisdom and path of self-determination. You know what is best for you and should follow it, rather than the promptings of others.

 Finding and staying on ones own path is never easy. It would seem that everyone has an opinion and most of them are far more concerned with what the speaker feels comfortable with, rather than the actual reality of the listener. I have often made choices that were less than popular, so this message isn’t new to me, but it certainly was a well-needed reminder of my present circumstances.

Another quote from the beginning of Andrew’s section on the Heron was about the significance of its long stick-like legs and its slow careful progress as it wades through the water (life) in the marshes and wetlands where it feeds.

They are symbols of balance, and they represent an ability to progress and evolve.

At 63, I certainly still retain the ability to grow and become more than I am. The Egret is white which, in the Western Hemisphere, often represents innocence, as well as a certain level of ignorance or inexperience. Again, no matter how old we are, we can always learn more.

This may all sound like a rather sweet little blend of an all too obvious reality. On a personal level, however, I took it to be a heads up because my life is not over, there are new experiences to be had, and a great deal left to learn. Every step is one into the Future and the Unknown. It is so easy to take such things for granted and by doing so, ignore them and miss what, to me, was a very personal message and lots of synchronicity.

And although the message may seem to others, a rather blatant truth or even common sense, in that moment when it all came together, I felt the awe of a child discovering again, the world that lies all around her. Life, with all of its ups and downs, will continue, my own and others. If I live to be ninety, like my Mother, I hope I never loose that sense of innocent awe. It makes for a certain element of eagerness, a willingness to arise each day, and to stay alert to the present moment and whatever it brings.

That one moment, in the backseat of the car headed North, the direction of Wisdom and Knowledge, brought me peace in the midst of a flood of images and topsy-turvy emotions. All I need do is close my eyes and I can see that Snowy Egret juxtaposed with the Hawk and I feel both the awe and peace once again. I am still on the path and can progress, can evolve, can become.