Ready

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I am ready. Powerful words offering the driving force to keep moving—a simple phrase that becomes an impetus. You’re made of energy, so use it. Keep going. I am ready. Say this to yourself, in whatever situations whenever you think you should. As long as you’re ready, remind yourself; and then do whatever it is you’re ready for.

When explaining to a relative how I’m happy to be closer to certain plans I’ve been working on for a while now, finally able to see them coming into being, I mentioned that I really waited longer than I had expected and sometimes wish I’d gotten everything, all of the school and certifications and tiny details, into place sooner. “Maybe you weren’t ready,” she told me, matter-of-fact and insightful as always. And in many ways, I really hadn’t been.

It’s not that I would necessarily have been less competent as a mental health practitioner and spiritual and holistic guide ten years ago, seven, five, as opposed to now, but the skills and traits I’ll be bringing into these roles have only been strengthened over the last several years.

I’m not ready and I’m not sure what I’m doing are also powerful. You don’t usually have to focus on saying them, they’re simply on repeat and it’s easy to assume the role of these mantras when negative issues invade your space. It’s not a sign of weakness, but of the delicate state of being human; we’re sensitive beings and as such we sometimes need to renew our energies, strategies and emotions while making sense of this world. The good thing is, we can all do this. It doesn’t take special instructions. It doesn’t take a particular personality type or social or educational background. We’re all resilient. While resiliency might be harder for some to access than others, it’s still there, a universal aspect to our design. When it’s not strong it just needs some attention to be activated. And it will be, and it will grow and so will you.

Within the last several years, everything that had threatened to break me down—divorce, financial difficulties, professional instability as I tried various paths (I’ve had more jobs in a year than many will have in a lifetime), increasing anxiety and depression here and there—tested me to the point of breakdown, but then shifted and became transcendent experiences. This transformation began involuntarily and it gained strength once I committed to putting conscious, voluntary effort into it. This is resiliency, first a natural instinct that kicks in until we sense it and then that driving force we take charge of, begin directing our decisions by, owning it fully.

This transformation allowed me to restructure myself from physical body to emotional mind to freeflowing spirit. I went through an important holometaboly, as in complete metamorphosis, just like the transformation the caterpillar goes through when it disintegrates inside of the chrysalis, becoming a mixture of old and new cells before taking on its notably different form of butterfly.

For the human, a soulful kind of holometaboly. Certain negative energies and thinking patterns are ready to be outgrown. Instead of staying encased in the negative energy and thinking that hard–obstructive and difficult–chrysalis cracks so you’ll emerge, sturdy and balanced, into a colorfully transmuted form of yourself ready to lift off like some willful winged thing.

Miraculous things happen when we’re feeling ready.

It’s taken awhile to get to these things I’d like to add into my life. It took time and some metaphorical bumps and falls and resulting metaphorical bruises, and resulting hesitancies to leave my physical and emotional comfort zones, but I’m now less than two years away from being licensed independently as a mental health counselor and I’ll be a formal Meditation Instructor sooner, something I’ve long wanted to pair with other spiritual practices and trainings. I’ll have my own lovely physical and emotional space where I can put certain skills, practices and ideas to use in ways meaningful to me and positive for others. A few years back all of this seemed too hazy still, potentially only a dream that would prove itself impossible. When I joined the American Counseling Association as a student this summer, I realized how far I’ve come along this path, now moving into something I have true passion for and know I can fulfill. I know this even during those still existent moments of wondering even though I can do this and I’ll be good, will I be good enough? I’m going to shrug at that. Whatever the answer is, I am ready.

Readiness is an experience of transformation, a chance to understand what it is to move from density to lightness, the feeling of floating freely on almost insubstantial yet simultaneously sturdy wings.

Get ready, get set, and now go. ✿

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Poetry With Neil

poetic

If you need me, me and Neil will be

Hanging out with the Dream King

–Tori Amos “Tear in my Hand”

(Name changed for privacy. Neil jumped to mind, as in the skilled story-weaver Neil Gaiman of the Sandman series. Neil Gaiman of Stardust, Neverwhere, American Gods, and Coraline. Neil could represent the poetry instructor, but also the realm of poetry itself.)

It has been a long time—seven years, almost a decade—since I’ve sat in a classroom among other writers, alternating between reading and listening, accepting and assigning critiques. Almost a decade, but I still remember the comfort of walking into that classroom with an unmistakable feeling of passing through some protective membrane and drifting into a warm place of palpable, nourishing energy. It has also been almost a decade since I’ve seen my poems make their way into the lives of others from their place within a journal or a newspaper, connected to the world by typeface on a page. Admittedly, I stopped making the effort to share during a period when many things in my life changed and everything was left to be redefined within the new parameters, including writing. It seemed I had walked out of one world and I wasn’t sure how to begin again in a new one: What were the rules? Since when had I even cared so much about rules, or what might be considered typical or acceptable on societal terms?

I work in a setting that offers substance abuse services to youth through the 12-Step philosophy. Each day I work with teenagers from various backgrounds who are being supported through various crises. Each teenager I work with is a unique soul, and each one is a good soul. Each one also has his or her own style of creativity, and writing is included among their education repertoire for allowing their creative energy to make its way into the world as they journey along the healing process.

Recently, I checked the clipboard at work and noticed “Poetry with Neil” on the day’s schedule. The poetry session would be held in the classroom, where the kids spend weekday mornings and afternoons working on school credits. Although I was excited when the volunteer poetry instructor showed up and the kids circled around to read poems they’d written during the week, I wasn’t expecting the same sense of comfort and being within the right realm that I’d experienced during my time in the Writer’s Workshop for a BFA program. It was a replicated experience though, from the sense of enveloped comfort right down to the additional bliss (and, let’s be honest, writing staple) of a mug of coffee in my hands.

It was a rush—rush of emotions and adrenaline, rush of love and passion and peacefulness. I felt somewhere inside of me an extra push at my conscious mind from some more subconscious place of dream and driving-force telling me that it’s time I stop inhibiting myself from the  realm I used to be so devoted to, that poetic realm of magic and reality coexisting. Now, inhabit. Stop inhibiting and start to inhabit that realm once again.

Many things have changed. One aspect of my difficulties with writing was something as small as a name. Written down, a name is relatively small in regards to the amount of space it occupies on a paper, in a room, in the world. A name as applicable to defining something—an object, a person, place or thing—becomes a larger implication. My publications were under the name I’d had when married; this name no longer linked to my identity. Not only had my name changed an aspect of how I’m defined, but I wasn’t certain how much of my identity was being reshaped and redefined as a single mother, as a woman who had just left the house she’d been spending her adult life in as mother and wife, as a person who would forevermore be judged by the word divorce according to different peoples’ different perceptions. Writing, which I had since childhood claimed as a basic fact of my identity, was suddenly as surreal as everything else.

Almost a decade later, I’ve been resettled. I’ve acclimated. It took time. It took good experiences and bad, it took warmth and light and health and using my voice when needed. As I sat in the classroom and listened to the kids I work with—each one within somewhat damaged circumstances for the moment, but ultimately more strongly resilient, and good and creative, and bright and full of possibilities— as they read and analyzed each others’ poetry, I considered more closely than I had in years the importance of the voice that poetry carries. It is important to those of us writing through that voice, and important to those who are listening. We all take different routes to understanding and healing, and for those of us who connect with the creative forces channeled through artistic expression, poetry is a world that is safe to us, where we can both rest and recharge. It is also an abundant place of magic, with its language of metaphor able to express truth in lyrical dreamscape—simply another form of reality translated through altered language.

In the field of psychology, there is Art Therapy, recognized for its calming, expressive, and healing elements. In the belief system and field of lightworking, poets are considered lightworkers, bringing light into the world through their form of artistic expression. However you choose to define creativity, whatever concepts you believe in, art has its healing properties. When we are involved in the creative process of art we are involved in a form of improving wellbeing for ourselves and others.

In that classroom, with time for the time existing somewhere else while we collected thoughts and energy within the poetic realm, I made myself a promise. I will visit this realm more often once again, I will listen to its voice, translate. I won’t lose contact or lose sight of its purpose in my life. I will continue to be inspired, inspired by the others I’m seeing let their own poetry step out into the world (including my daughter, including other beautiful writers I’ve come across on writing blogs and at poetry readings for authors’ tours), and inspired by the constant nudging at my psyche by both the richly sensual world and the richly mysterious ethereal planes, each insisting they be further explored.

It will be a slow start, most likely, but I’m fine with that. Quite simply, I don’t want to continue looking back at the progress, past progress, I’d made in writing and wistfully wonder to myself how much more I could have done—most often, there’s no reason not to find out how much more we can do.

Happiness Through the Nose

It is not the end of the physical body that should worry us. Rather, our concern must be to live while we’re alive – to release our inner selves from the spiritual death that comes with living behind a facade designed to conform to external definitions of who and what we are. –Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

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Never would I have thought a puncture wound in my nostril could make me feel so good or inspire further life reflection. It all started during summer. My daughter decided to pierce her nose after a long process of considering the pros and cons of a facial piercing, including how it might affect her job; what meaning it had for her; and whether she might lose interest in it or not. She also factored in an upcoming surgery to remove an ovarian cyst—an office nurse advised the piercing itself isn’t a problem, but the jewelry would need to be removed prior should the “worst case scenario” of resuscitation become necessary. What with this new concern and its accompanying horrifying images of my daughter in distress in an operating room filling my mind, the worries I’d had about a nose infection making me hesitant to agree with the piercing were no longer so terribly looming. If you’re going to be responsible and care for it, I told her, you have my blessing.

The decision to pierce finalized, we journeyed one summer night to a reputable (always research the safety of the establishment that will be responsible for inserting sharp objects into any area of your body) tattoo and piercing shop, my daughter’s stepsister from her father’s relationship along for moral support. The woman who walked us to the room and arranged the necessary tools for the piercing ritual to commence was professional and precise, and I admired the way my daughter not only didn’t blink, but continued to sit with her elegant posture and a smile while a three inch needle popped through and then dangled briefly from her nose. The jewelry inserted, a quick dab with a napkin to remove a small droplet of blood, and we were on our way back out the door. The tiny diamond looked lovely.

My daughter had asked me to pierce my nose with her as a symbol of our bond; it would be a shared physical trait, like our body types and smiles. I’ll think about it, I had said. Nose piercings are a form of fashion/cultural/artistic expression I have long appreciated. Dainty, ornamental, and not too dissimilar to a freckle or a mole, they appear feminine and inoffensive twinkling from the face. In many belief systems throughout Indian culture, both Hindu and non-Hindu, the nose piercing is a common symbol related to marriage, in reference to the goddess of marriage, Parvati. It is worn to show a young woman is ready for marriage or worn to show a woman is married. The piercing is also considered health-related in various regions of India: piercing the nostril on a specific area is thought to alleviate pain during menstruation and childbirth according to traditions of Ayurvedic medicine. The pierced nose continues to be seen as a mark of beauty in Indian, Nepali, and African regions. Nose piercing was also widely practiced throughout Aborigine Australian, Mayan, Aztec, and New Guinea tribes, a symbol of beauty, social status and, in the males with pierced nostrils or septums, virility.

As humans, we’re into symbols. We are interested in explaining and understanding ourselves and our world in as many ways as possible, and symbols become a way to do this while offering the added advantage of unifying ourselves with others.

Although I like the nose piercing fundamentally for its artistic flair, I also began to think of it as a personal symbol. As someone who has a fair amount of anxiety related to health, due to anxiety related to the fairly common human fear of mortality, and an increasing avoidance of anything that might cause pain or illness, I decided facing the needle was a way to open myself up to a selected experience of pain to work through—a small situation of allowing a painful moment and then attending to the healing process afterwards. It also turned into a symbol of growth through taking on new situations in life. Almost forty-years-old and aware of how many people greet this middle age phase with hesitancy and even depression, I made a decision on my recent thirty-ninth birthday that each birthday should be acknowledged with a plan for trying something new, no matter how small or complex that something is. When forty is here, so long as I am fortunate enough to see it, I want to see it as arriving at a transformative place in life where I’m a little older and have opportunity to turn this newest phase into whatever important adventure I want it to be.

Instead of dwelling on the aging process that inevitably takes us down at some point the further we go in it, I want to gather up my years of collected experiences and wisdom, mistakes and pains, and shape a new creation out of it all.

A nose piercing has turned out to be a simple and perfect way to start. With my husband and my daughter, and her stepsister along again four months later for moral support, I sat in the same chair at the same tattoo and piercing shop as my daughter (and her stepsister, who had pierced her nose within a week of our first visit), and greeted the same woman with her familiar latex gloves and three inch needles. Ready I was to let her push one of those needles through the soft tissues of my left nostril. My daughter held out her hand for me to hold and encouragingly reminded me, “You’ve given birth before!” True, but the medical staff had to sedate me during the birthing process when I started panicking due to the labor slowing down and a nurse informing me that I might need C-section. “I just want to go home, okay?” I had replied, while trying to sit up and leave the hospital bed. It wasn’t the pain I was reacting against, but the fear of the unknown. Pain I can deal with; uncertainty, I’m sometimes sensitive to that.

“You can close your eyes,” my piercing mistress said. “Close your eyes, Mom,” my daughter ordered, her usual big, free, life-loving (and somewhat roguish) smile on her face. I closed my eyes. The needle went through. It felt the way one would imagine a needle going in one side and out the other of a bodily region might: it hurt. My eyes watered and the delicate metal settling into my flesh felt as unnatural as it is. It also felt good. With my eyes open, I smiled. I felt an encouraging sense of accomplishment and was pleased that I hadn’t walked away from this experience. The strange excitement for seeing me pierced that my daughter and her stepsister had, along with the funny look of curiosity mixed with a mild alarm from my husband as the needle was poised made the experience all the more worthwhile.

Each day I clean the diamond three times with antibacterial soap, as instructed. I check for signs of infection. So far, it’s healing well. My anxiety attacks from observing the minor and expected redness have diminished along with the redness of newly punctured skin. Not only do I like how the jewelry sparkles and satisfies my tastes for artistry, I also smile to think of having tried something new that has some meaning in my life, in my personal collection of symbols and knowledge. By the time I’m forty, such a short time from now, I plan to welcome in the new phase of aging by putting to use my years of meditation and yoga practice with a teaching certificate for meditation instruction. I will also be midway through a clinical counseling degree for licensure; moving closer to a new way to connect with and support the healing of others, and learn about healing and living from others in the process. I hope to have gone back to the Capoeira classes I started four years ago but left for other obligations in my days. Maybe I’ll be close to giving birth again, for only the second time in my life—both a fear and a dream of mine. I plan, also, to blow out forty candles and make an oath to not let age and aging be the determining factors of how I feel physically or emotionally.

I feel no different saying I’m thirty-nine than I did ten years ago saying I was twenty-nine. Back then I didn’t believe that aging means depression and losing the ability to conquer new things; why start now?

Tea With Thanatos At 3AM

“I’m not afraid of dying; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”—Woody Allen

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Sometimes insomnia is interesting, sitting you up in the middle of the night to visit a calmness and silence the days don’t afford. You have the illusion of life in suspension, with most human activity, including bouts of traffic, stilled for the time. The moon is so clear, the stars so vital. If a tree rustles or a window rattles, it seems intended especially for you; the breezes outside seem to want to say hello and check in on your night before they go on. The world is all yours for a short while, so instead of getting too worked up over the lack of sleep, it becomes a calm time to boil water and steep yourself a cup of Sleepytime tea until you’re ready get aligned again with your expected biological rhythm as a sleep at night, wake at day, human creature.

Sometimes insomnia means you have a little too much on your mind, say a fear or something like that. Say a phobia, maybe even thanatophobia. Thanatophobia is the phobia of death; not just a basic fear of dying, according to the description I found myself reading at 3AM, but “an intense, overwhelming fear of death.” Reading on to the causes—which I almost didn’t, because what causes the fear of death does seem fairly apparent—the roots of any phobia, including thanatophobia, are said to be based in early trauma of the phobia sufferer’s life. The symptoms of thanatophobia are described as follows: “symptoms of thanatophobia are as individual as the people coping with this phobia. Some people, when confronted with their fear of death and dying, may feel slightly uncomfortable, nauseated or simply begin to perspire. At the opposite end of the spectrum, some people are so severely affected by this phobia, that they will experience anxiety and/or panic attacks.” To meet the criteria of a phobia, there must be both emotional and physical reactions when confronted by a fearful stimulus. Some people are so affected by a fear of dying and non-existence that to be thanatophobic can bring “intense, crippling anxiety that disrupts a person’s daily life.” The panic attacks themselves worsen the situation as they often bring the physical symptoms of dry mouth, muscle tension, fear of impending disaster, feeling short of breath, heart palpitations, and feelings of losing control–physical and mental sensations that become interpreted as feelings of impending death.

On this particular 3AM, I was thankfully free of any type of crippling anxiety, heart palpitations, and urges to unnecessarily shake my husband—so peacefully sleeping in blissful unawareness—awake to beg him to tighten the blood pressure cuff from the closet around my arm “just to be sure.” Although my blood pressure runs low and I’m not under medical surveillance for anything, the mind in the middle of a phobic attack can make you doubt most anything rational, especially when having a little fear-of-death moment and your home is filled with such gems as sphygmomanometers, pulse oximeters, and stethoscopes–tools of the trade from my previous nurse assisting gigs, not the stockpile of a hypochondriac, I assure you–all begging you to obsessively check to be sure all is working well. This, however, was not one of those times of full-out, panic-stricken, irrational thoughts of doom. So I decided to make the best of it by, of all things, slowing my thoughts, taking a breath, and focusing. Sometimes we just need a quiet moment to analyze a situation until it finally snaps clearly into focus, therefore making more sense to us.

Since childhood, I’ve fit with the thanatophobes of the world; only mildly at first, but over time with a little more pronouncement. I have a few friends from childhood who interestingly enough have had the same experience throughout their lives, having what seems like a natural inclination for a close, tumultuous relationship with an acute awareness of mortality resulting in acute questioning, seeking, and at times fearing. Fear of death and questioning the reason for existence when faced with mortality are not uncommon; 68% of the American population are said to admit to necrophobia, which is fear of death but also of things related to death, such as coffins or funeral homes or dead things lying around—a bird or a squirrel stone cold in an otherwise lovely spring garden, for example. It’s perfectly natural to be human and fear that which we don’t understand, including the loss of the lives we are so accustomed to; the burden of being human tends to lie in being sentient. Why be given something so amazing, a life so full of beauty and love, and the capacity to be so fully aware of it only to have to one day be erased from it? How unfair, and uncomfortable, is that? Woody Allen said it well by saying he isn’t afraid of death, he just doesn’t want to be there when it happens. In some parallel universe, couldn’t it just be that even though we die, we really don’t, since we didn’t have to be there when it happened?

Is it any wonder these thoughts sometimes keep us up and afraid to go back to sleep at 3AM?

There’s nothing overtly traumatic in my childhood regarding death, but my guess is that since I also fit well with the description of a HSP, or highly sensitive person (which I think means sensitive enough to be considered “abnormal” but with the right amount of mental/emotional stability to avoid a proper DSM diagnosis), the lessons of death and dying and afterlife that began at birth were something my mind wasn’t ready to take on at early ages. Being raised in a Catholic family meant going to church weekly, starting as a bundled up infant without a care or an awareness of the deeply philosophical subject matter of religion but, nonetheless, taking the words into consciousness during all of those formative months and years of developing language and understanding its meanings. Heaven, hell, death, God, angels, resurrection, eternity. Oh my. It’s not a complaint or a regret, though, I don’t believe we should shelter young minds from learning about life, including big subjects like mortality and the mystery of both life and death–it’s a great spiritual and intellectual opportunity to be introduced to such lofty concepts at an early age. I only believe we need to be aware of why we might think in a certain way when it becomes in some way uncomfortable or destructive; we should be willing to look into our own histories and examine what it can be traced back to, if anything.

Sometimes knowing the start of an issue helps you understand why you have been holding on to negative thoughts or energy for too long; it helps you release that which hurts you, so that you may heal. Often we do develop fears or worries in childhood along with ineffective methods for dealing with them, then become emotionally controlled by our habitual methods and forget to learn how to let a fear go. Couple this with heightened sensitivity in the emotional realm and you can wind up with a phobia so developed it really does have its own entity, accompanying you through life like the evil twin you never wished you had.

What a great revelation, and sweet moment. For once, I was able to slow my mind and think these things, and let husband sleep his comfortable sleep most likely filled with life-affirming dreams (and dreams of fresh falafels, which he often misses because you just can’t access them in the Omaha area the way you can in Chicago, or back home in Palestine). For once, I developed a new method based on the idea of facing your fears: if death, for whatever reason, has stepped into my mind again in such a negative way, why not approach death not as a fear, but as a face. An entity. A person one could sit and share a cup of tea with.

Thanatophobia derives its name from Thanatose, the Greek personification of death. I figured I would start there. Next step: pulling a comfortable blanket around my shoulders, pouring more tea, and settling onto the warm, cozy couch. When you are physically comfortable anything scary or otherwise negative is often easier to deal with.

I considered pouring an extra cup of tea to set on the table (and if husband were to wake I could simply offer it to him—It’s for you, dear! I’m not sitting here talking to ghosts! Really, I’m okay!) the way people offer food and drink and other gifts to the spirits of deceased loved ones on Dia de los Muertos, the way people leave fruits and money and various objects at the altars within Hindu and Buddhist temples for beings of the transcendent realms, or light candles when praying to Jesus, Mary, or the saints. Here, Thanatose, use my favorite cup, and we’ll sit and talk like friends.

I figured the spiritual realm operates a little differently, though, so I left it to a B.Y.O.T.C. situation; even death may have his own favorite tea cup. I settled in and decided, once and for all, to stop seeing a natural, unavoidable part of existence fundamentally as a fear. It didn’t seem very possible considering I’ve been wishing to resolve this problem for decades now, with little true progress, but I realized the wishing has been part of the problem—too much passive wishing, not enough active deciding.

The way I met with Thanatos was to learn more about him, to go back to the mythology and see his origins and trace the idea people have developed of Thanatos and other ideas of death over time. What caught my attention first was the description of Thanatos; I was surprised to see he was not described simply as death, but as the god of non-violent death who has a touch that is “gentle, likened to that of his twin brother Hypnos (Sleep).” He does have “blood-craving” sisters, the Keres, whose domain is that of slaughter and disease, but Thanatos himself is more like a simple fact of mortality, a rational explanation that all things living do approach an end. All of this information was thought-provoking; I was on the right path. Is there a fear of a certain kind of death? Is nonexistence and the disappearance of this life, where I am recognized by name and physicality, a more comfortable concept when you can truly imagine it as a peaceful transition of mind and soul? Something gentle within nature that simply wants to guide you into another phase of what you are as a sentient being, made of more than observable matter, made also of energy, emotion, and intellect. Made of what we cannot see or understand by tangible means, yet it exists.

Into the next hour I read, pushing on as the familiar senses of fear, anxiety, and other discomfort billowed through mind and body. I don’t want to take this fear with me through every day; I want to learn more about life by accepting every aspect of it, including its ending. I want to form some semblance of peace that is constant, not just one that at times improves a little but then rushes back because some comment or movie or book or visit to the doctor’s got me thinking in a phobic way again. Enough is enough. I want to have peace with every aspect of life in the same way I like to get along with every person I meet. It’s just the healthiest way.

Somewhere near 5AM, somewhere between articles about various cultural beliefs and fears surrounding death, various mythological descriptions of death, and a few websites addressing methods for dealing with fears of dying, the Sleepytime tea, cozy set up in the living room, and glimmering snow visible at the balcony window had all crept into my senses to infuse a sense of calm. It was time to sleep.

Sometimes insomnia might have a purpose, rousing us at a time when we are stuck alone with our thoughts and emotions, with plenty of time to focus on them without the interruption of our waking routines. All in all, I’m happy that fear and a lack of sleep inspired an invitation extended to Thanatos, whom I had imagined as a demonic entity with solid muscles and a cruel face of icy eyes and even icier breath. Not only did Thanatos turn out to be depicted as a calm-faced, bearded man—amazingly enough looking more like my kind father than a demon—but there was a more rational characterization for him: that of a gentle, and one could suppose conscientious or compassionate, death.

Like many others, like 68% of Americans or possibly even 68% of all humans, I still have a level of discomfort with mortality and may not be at complete peace with the idea of shuffling off this mortal coil and gliding into the unknown. I do hope, though, that I have finally learned the key to accepting all aspects of existence as beautiful, integral parts of each other that are nothing to fear. That is yet to be seen for sure, but I think I’m on the right path.

Regardless of my evolution, I’m sure I will still hold an appreciation for Woody Allen quotes.

Tabletop Fountains and Running Much Like the Wind

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If you’ve never settled a miniature fountain onto a tabletop in your home, it’s never too late to try something new in your days.

If you generally walk, and only walk, to get from point A to B to every other letter you might need to visit and then back again, you might want to take a suggestion to pick up your feet higher, quicker, and run! Race the wind until you can (A) win or(B) blend in, moving as much like it in steadiness and speed as possible. Also, if you’re not familiar with mangos and lentils, prayer, yoga, relaxation techniques, deep breathing, calming music, camping, turning somersaults, connecting with art, understanding anatomy, opening your arms to the rain, holding an amazing Cecropia moth in your hands, laughing way out loud, standing in a gorgeous garden and simply stopping in place to study the way a fountain’s water reflects back the sun, forms of meditation, understanding the physics of energy, understanding the basics of holism, understanding how to laugh at warped humor, it’s fine, your mind can adapt to whatever change you ask it to take on.

Why take on changes, you may wonder, why try something new? A change is a shift, transformation, or alteration, and can be as simple as a change of clothing or hair cut or home decor or can go all the way to a transcendent life change that will bring you a meaning and peace of your place in existence that you possibly hadn’t even known you were looking for. Change gives us a broader range of view and motion in the world. It fulfills our needs to evolve into greater capacities of love and connection with ourselves and, in sequential order, others. Change is healthy, and we want and need healthy to keep this world going around.

Holism is a recognition that all parts relate to the others, that a system (be it an individual body or an entire society) works best when each part is functioning as it was meant to, and likewise the system can falter if even a single part gets knocked out of its course of action. Heal the body and the mind will heal, and in the mind healing the body will heal. When an individual is healed–healing meaning having strengthened the ability to function holistically–that individual can move that healing energy into his or her relationships. Individuals heal to become whole in all their human components of body/mind/soul, and couples and groups heal to become whole as components of security and peace to each other to create lives that are fulfilling, together.

Healing varies in intensity and need, and it’s often to our benefit think of healing as a daily practice, as it’s easy to get knocked from the course of our best actions even when we go out into the world with our best intentions.
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Traffic, spilled coffee, lost wallets or cell phones, stolen cars, broken in homes that threaten both our emotional and physical security, rude people in stores, rude people on the telephone, rude people in your own house (sometimes you as the rude person), viruses and allergies, jobs we don’t really want but do really need, debt upon debt, lack of time, too much time when all we want is the day to hurry up and move on, sunburn, spider bites, bed bugs, hail damage, paying for toilet paper with quarters, being unhappy around chihuahuas, anything at all can put a heavy finger on our emotional eqilibrium to tip it, prompting us to justify staying out of balance regardless of the risk this causes to our health, the health of others, and of the world where we all so dearly need to reside in balance. It’s important to stay mindful of methods that bring us relaxation and a sense of well-being both physically and mentally.

If the musicality of a tiny fountain or a daily running routine provides you with health, then you do this. If it’s eating more fruits, vegetables, and whole grains, then you do this. If it’s volunteering, painting things that bring others a sense of appreciation of beauty and emotion, or praying you go for it, with confidence. If you’re really not sure what brings you to your best place of health with yourself and others, then you start trying new things. You look for changes of habit, hobby, or idea. You seek until you find.

And you will find what it is that improves your quality of living and lets you contribute to the greater life you function within; there is no exclusive club in the universe that shuts out certain people in their quests to change, evolve, or fit in. Everything, everyone already fits in, already an important component of this whole world.
if-love-is-universal-no-one-can-be-left-out

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Website Provided: Nelson’s Natural World, a listing of types of holistic therapies, also referred to as complementary therapies. The therapies are referenced as complementary in the Western practice of medicine because they are considered as non-mainstream methods combined with conventional medicine. It is always best to follow the treatments suited for a specific condition as stated by your licensed, competent physician. They earned their license for a reason, and true holism leaves nothing out that is beneficial to healing and overall well-being, be it of complementary or conventional school of thought.

http://www.nelsonsnaturalworld.com/en-gb/uk/natural-health-resource/complementary-medicines/types-of-complementary-therapies/