I think I know where I break and get lost. I don’t know yet what to do about it, but I’m writing it down so that I remember when I get confused and can chew on something rationally instead of emotionally.

Our first word: belief

belief |biˈlēf|
noun
1 an acceptance that a statement is true or that something exists : his belief in God | a belief that solitude nourishes creativity.
• something one accepts as true or real; a firmly held opinion or conviction : contrary to popular belief, Aramaic is a living language | we’re prepared to fight for our beliefs.

Our second word: trust

trust |trəst|
noun
1 firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something : relations have to be built on trust | they have been able to win the trust of the others.
• acceptance of the truth of a statement without evidence or investigation : I used only primary sources, taking nothing on trust.
• the state of being responsible for someone or something : a man in a position of trust.
• poetic/literary a person or duty for which one has responsibility : rulership is a trust from God.
• poetic/literary a hope or expectation : all the great trusts of womanhood.

One, if you’ll notice, is quite simple. While the other is far more complicated. And here I think I might have finally arrived at the source of my own frustration:

I have unshakable belief in things, people, and myself. And I have little to no trust in any thing, person, or myself. And the higher I crank up my instinctive, overwhelming, absolute belief, the bigger that vacuum of trust gets. And the more I end up in tears and feeling horrible and having no clue why.

I’ve been saying that to myself a lot lately. Why can’t I just have this one thing. Why can’t I just figure this out. Why can’t I just be happy.

When I feel like this everything gets muddled. Everything from my life to the whole of the universe gets called in for questioning, and all the data gets sifted through again. Are these things that I want really the things that I want? Are these things that I call good really good for me? Yes, if I could just….

Somehow I want things I do not want as stepping stones to the things that I want. And I am supposed to like these things that I don’t want, by virtue of their enabling me to have what I want.

Some call this patience and planning and goalsetting. In a mood like this I call it lunacy. Why should I want something that is not what I want? I know what I want. I should now have it. Why is there waiting and planning and time? Why do I always feel like I am on someone else’s schedule?

What is broken in me that I can’t just keep moving toward what I want? And be happy with knowing that whether I am crawling on my belly or flooring it in Lola, inertia’s going to do its thing sooner or later.

(Why can’t it just be sooner?!?!?)

A conundrum for you:

Here is the definition of rely:

rely |riˈlī|
verb ( -lies, -lied) [ intrans. ] ( rely on/upon)
depend on with full trust or confidence : I know I can rely on your discretion.
• be dependent on : the charity has to rely entirely on public donations.

This is love and I do not understand it. If I am in a good mood, those two definitions, delicately at odds with each other, make perfect sense. But in this mood, it’s impossible. How do you trust someone if you have to depend on them? How can you?

“I almost lost it there,” I say to Ishmael.

“Almost,” he says. He gives me a big hug. It feels a little like TBC’s hugs. It feels *a lot* like TBC’s hugs.

I’m supposed to get that “almost” is not “did.” I get it, but I still feel badly.

“Will you ever get how incredible you are?” Ishmael murmurs into my hair.

I don’t feel very incredible. It’s been a horrible day. It’s that time of the month and I ache, and whatever hormonal convolutions my body has to do to start off the fireworks always makes my mood go south. Every time it’s the same: my focus on what will be is ripped away and all I can see is what is, and what is is what I don’t want. And then I get desperate and start looking at scams online, like I have for the past seven months or so, trying to understand how a smart, educated person like myself has failed to figure out an effective way to make a solid income.

And *then* I get angry that a smart, educated person like myself managed to make enough mistakes in life (really, in love) that it took me ten years to realize that I wasn’t happy. And I get angry that I went out on a crusade to figure out how to make me happy, which included a long detour into who I am when my own happiness is my guiding star, and for all of that I am still living a life which doesn’t make me very happy…

…yet.

“Almost,” Ishmael whispers.

In 2007, I was living in Portland. A local metaphysical shop (named Practically Divine at the time, now apparently The Guiding Tree) held a Psychic Fair.

For a flat rate of something like $10 a session, various psychics had set up tables and gave half-hour readings. I ended up sitting down with a nice gal named Raven. To be honest, I don’t remember much of what she told me. I might have written it down; it feels like a lifetime ago.

All I remember is that she said: “You’re not nearly as weird or alternative as you think you are. Stop trying so hard to be different.”

(more…)

Something is wrong with today. I can feel it. Which, of course, isn’t really true. Something is happening today, and it’s affecting me oddly.

I feel completely propelled to do something and completely resistant to it. I don’t really know what. I feel physically not well from pushing myself hiking yesterday. I alternately feel like everything is going perfectly swimmingly in my life and like I am drowning in demands on my attention and limited resources.

Something is calling for me to just put one foot in front of the other. Don’t be ignorant or blind or stupid, but I’m committed and I have a plan that will inevitably work. There’s nothing else to do but enjoy the process and keep heading in the same direction. All will work out perfectly. All will be well.

Meanwhile there is something shrieking inside of me that *nothing* is well and *nothing* is working and that *nothing* will ever, ever be well and work out.

The thing is, when I ask that shrieking voice what exactly it thinks I could be doing differently, it shuts up and starts muttering vague dark prophecies to itself pretty darn fast.

As in there *is* nothing. Just the step-by-step.

Just the many-tentacled monster and the warrior. They are at the heart of all this, I think. We’ll be having it out with them later tonight.

I begin most mornings these days by picking up my iPod and listening to a few minutes of an Abraham-Hicks DVD. I feel like I need as much help as I can get remembering that I am source energy, and not this lonely creature who is half the time optimistic and rest of the time fending off doubts.

On this particular day I had a writerly thought: what if I made source energy a person? If the point is to come into alignment with the eternal Me, why don’t I just ask it how? I’ve made every other concievable thing into a character in my head to talk to anyhow.

(more…)

“I am Shethged,” the warrior replies. “This is Vantoo. Now get out of the way. We are destined to fight this battle to a bloody end.”

“Really.” I turn to Ishmael, who has walked over to a safe distance. “They can lie to me?”

“You lie to yourself all the time. Incoming.” I hear the swish of the blade and I know I can’t do anything to stop it. This is going to hurt.

Except that I am surrounded by glowing pink energy, shimmery and translucent. I turn to see the warrior’s blade stuck in the pink energy. She is tugging at it, but the sword is stuck fast. I hear chuckling coming from the many-tentacled thing.

(more…)

Finally I have time to come back to this image.

On Monday I met with Lori and she did a process with me. Her processes generally involve her asking me questions about a subject that is making me uneasy that I asked for help dealing with. The point of the asking is to listen inwardly for an answer.

My answer to one of the questions was this:

Two figures on a plain. One is a woman warrior in full plate mail. She doesn’t have a helmet, and she has long blonde hair. The other is some sort of monster. Most of the monster is outside the image, and all that I see of it is three or four tentacles. They are fighting each other. They are dirty and exhausted and both spattered with blood.

My unconscious is, if nothing else, creative.

(more…)

Just got back from a session with Lori, my life coach (have I mentioned that she coaches over the phone if you are not local [and sometimes even if you are]). She said so many great things I have to share them and also make sure I have this stuff banged far enough into my own brain to make some real change.

(more…)

I drop Balthazar’s blanket from my shoulders and stand up from the settee.

“Call Darzee,” I say. “I need your help.”

Balthazar grins at me, a smile full of happiness and pointed teeth. “I’m going to like this, aren’t I?”

“I hope so. I hope we all do.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when Darzee appears before the fireplace. There is no dramatic entrance, she is just simply there. She too is an air spirit, but she is an elemental. She began as a simple sylph, but through bonding with me (she is my familiar as much as I am hers) she is now an elemental, strong enough to effect the weather and in service to angels. All I know on that point is that ever since I picked up Ishmael (or he picked up me), Darzee has been working for him.

That makes me wonder–do I work for Ishmael, too?

(more…)