ORIGINAL BLISS

Our Hearts Bleed for Love

"Our Hearts Bleed for Love"

Soul Journal Page 2009

 

"Women are born incurable romantics. Plumb the female psyche and you will find an elegy of romantic remorse. Meloncholy fragments of unrequited love stretch from our cradles to our graves.

Regrets not neccessarily caused by lovers who chose to live without us, so much as the recollection of things we loved once, but learned to live without.

Life is supposed to be a romantic adventure.

Is yours?

Didn't think so.

There might be a few things in a woman's life that a romantic interlude won't cure, but I don't know any of them."

Sarah Ban Brethnach

"Something More"

Soul Mate Fiction

"Look in the Mirror" Soul Journal Page 10/1/2012

 

All the pointless searching for a "soul mate." All the believing in something that doesn't exist.

Like it is really possible to find the one person that is going to fit with our unique personality perfectly; like our likes, dislike our dislikes, enhance our good traits and balance out our fucked up ones.

To really find your true soul mate...

you have to find your soul.

Then...

you have to look in the mirror.

Namaste,

Shannan

Evolution

I have been so stagnant lately. Sitting around on my ass waiting for something to happen, for something to be brought to me, for inspiration.

What that means is, I have been sitting around in my skivvies watching episodes of 'Breaking Bad' back to back and not being what I call "creatively productive."

I have forced myself to sit down and write my next novel, Time Walker, but that ends up being sitting down and staring at the words I have already written, maybe moving them around a little, until I give up and go back to watching 'Breaking Bad'.

This is extremely frustrating for me because I have a complete story all laid out in my head, but for some reason I am having a hard time telling it right now.

I could force it—figuratively stick my finger down my throat and vomit Time Walker out—but sorry, that is no fun for me. And the truth of it is, if it doesn't turn me on, I ain't doin' it.

As I was wrestling with my artistic angst one day, it occurred to me, the Creative cannot be forced to manifest. It happens naturally, in its own sweet time; not like a big bang where it all appears in a perfect instant, but in the slow drip of evolution.

My soul has been telling my ego to back the fuck off and give her some space. Sure, laying on the couch for the complete second season of a kickass television show may look like I am wasting time, or it could be I am incubating, or learning how to tell an even more amazing story from it.

Time Walker will get written. It is all there.

In the meantime, I will find ways that allow the Creative to just happen, whether it is through writing, journaling, photography, or finger painting.

Namaste,

Shannan

Run, run, run runaway...

 

 

When the road gets rough, the tough hit the road.

 

 

That's my story and I am sticking to it.

 

 

I've been told it is a bad habit: that when shit goes down, I bail. But the way I look at it, sometimes sticking around only makes things worse. 

 

 

So, yeah, the other day, I started acting a fool. It's fucking embarrassing. Really. But because you all have come to expect "raw honesty" from me, I'm gonna tell you how lame I was.

 

 

But you can't laugh.

 

 

Promise?

 

 

I started making a big deal about something that in the scope of love and life, is about the size of flea shit.

 

Got myself all in a tizzy over it; butthurt and pouty--knotted and unhinged.

 

And it was all over something on Facebook.

 

I told you.

 

Stop fucking laughing.

 

You all have done it. Don't judge.

 

K. Maybe you haven't.

 

So, I almost fuck up something really great in my life over social media, and in my complete and utter shame, I jumped in my car and headed for the hills.

 

If I slip out the back and take leave for a little while my head has a miraculous way of popping back out of my ass.

 

Thankfully, it did.

 

I am seeing and thinking and acting like a mature adult again. 

 

For today.

 

Right this minute.

 

Give me a second though, the mood could swing.

 

Namaste,

Shannan

 

 

...Any Way I Can.

Reading: Secret History of the World by Mark Booth

Listening: Zen Garden, OK Go, Ed Sheeran, not an Airplane

Eating: Mediterranean Chicken and Orzo microwave dinner from Target 

ON MY MIND: Getting a massage, working out, blogging on Original Bliss again, finding my Muse again (I lost him somewhere...he was feeling neglected and ran off), and....

LOVE.

It had become a bad word, love...the worst four-letter word EVER. When 'fuck' has more appeal, you know you have a serious problem.

But, unfortunately, it really had become that way, and for so long I haven't thought I would find my way out of that mindset...or heartset, rather.

By nature I am a lover. Put the balls-to-the-wall attitude and risque mouth aside, I am one who always moves to seek and find and give love in the world. It is the bottom line for me, of singular importance. If love is off, nothing else fits. When love is right, everything falls into place.

Every day I try to find a way to be an expression of love in the world, with my children, with my friends, with the strangers I meet, with nature, and when I have one, with my lover. At the end of the day, the final question I ask myself is: "Did I love well today?"

If, in some way, I did not, then I try to remedy the situation. I apologize as soon as possible. "I'm sorry" is one of the best expressions of love~right after "I love you."

But what happens when another has hurt you, has made you feel unloved and uncared for? What then?

See...that is the kicker...right in the jimmy.

It is especially bad when the unloving act(s) are harsh: abandonment, dishonesty, unfaithfulness, physical harm, emotional abuse...those create wounds that take so much time to heal. And sometimes they never really do. 

Unhealed wounds ooze bitterness. You know those people. We all have them in our lives; hateful, bitter and hard, the evidence of the unloved.

See, I was really proud of myself. I had overcome my totally devastated heart...sewn her right back up with some leftover thread I found around here and ventured back out in the world. She was a scraggly-ass mess, though. Her rage was still too present in every encounter.

So I pulled back, gave her a little time to put a scab on. Then I put a little cover up on 'er and hit the bars with her again.

To be honest, I was really only looking for the three-letter "f" word (fun), hopefully with a little four-letter "f" word on the side.

That worked out a lot better. I found them both! In one guy!!!! It was great!!!! I was smiling again. The fancy was tickled.

But then...after a time...the 8-letter "f" word came along.

Feelings.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

And that is when scabby-ass heart didn't hold up so well. She got a little weird. Well, in my case weird is normal...so she got a little weirder than usual.

See, half-healed wounds are not much better. They weep mistrust and keep the heart tight. The half-healed heart, while not spewing hate, still cannot create real love in the world, let alone with a partner. Every thing it touches with its love-attempts is tainted; with fear and with negative expectations.

So the scabs started to itch and scabby-ass heart started to scratch. She became afraid. She wants to pull. She wants to push.

She wants to hide herself away again until the scar tissue takes. "It would be for the best," she says. "So no one gets hurt."

But then she doesn't. She wants to move into it. "He has a scabby-ass heart, too," she says. "You both are kinda fucked up."

"If you just roll with it, and are honest, it will be what it is. And that will be fine."

So that is really where we are today, me and my scabby-ass heart.

If you've ever been there, holla.

Namaste,

Shannan

A Temper Tantrum in Blue and Gray

Hello old friends and readers. It has been a very long time. Way too long for me, that's for sure. 

The goal was to stop everything else and just focus on writing my book. I thought it would be a good diversion - to keep my head engaged as I maneuvered my way through the wreckage of my life. But now I do not think that was a wise choice. By sticking my head into the fiction of my novel, I lost touch with the reality of my heart. I ignored my emotional voice.

Blogging, art journaling, and journal writing have always helped me keep my inner space spruced up. It forces me to look at the emotional clutter and make decisions about what to do with it. What is this about? Can I get rid of this now? Can I move on? Can I transform it into something beautiful?

Needless to say, without that outlet, my innards are lookin' like holy hell.

I thought it would be so nice just to shut out all the pain and suffering... to come down with an amnesia that blocks out the memories. But if they aren't really dealt with - YOU ARE DOOMED TO REPEAT THEM!!!!

Ah yes... and that was the inspiration for my posting today. I was tootling along on cloud 9, really happy about the progress I have been making in my recovery from a disastrous relationship. Thrilled to be meeting new people and doing new things. EXCITED about the possibilities and the future.

But underneath that glam and glittery surface.... eee gads! It is dark and murky and slimy. EW.

And all that denial, grief, anger, and confusion - feeds a monster. And then when I least expect it, it surfaces and spews that nasty crap out her blow hole.

Yeah... she's an ugly bitch.

So, in order to slay the monster, I have to starve her out. I have to, like really, get to work. Stop denying the pain and grief and anger. Stop trying to hide it all in the closet and under the bed, so I can look "pretty" all the time.

And while I do that, I am going to start balancing my novel writing with a little play - some finger painting, some scribbling, and some temper tantrums in blues and gray.

Okay.... and maybe some pink, and green, and bright golden yellow!

Namaste,

CHEZ

 

 

 

Motion and Stillness

The move is complete.

I am in my new place and it is such an awesome space! A real sanctuary. A house of glass that lets in the dappled sunlight and views of lush vegetation that surround the property. A fountain bubbles outside my bedroom windows and birds flit in and out of the courtyards.

I love it so so so so much! 

It has been so much work: the planning, the packing, the heaving and hefting, the loading and unloading, and finding the perfect places for all the crap I have acquired over 43 years.

Add to that the emotional baggage and bureaucratic processes of a divorce...

I have been so busy I haven’t had time to really think. Or really feel.

I had a moment alone last night. Kelsea was at work. Mattea was with friends. It was just me, alone with my thoughts and my feelings.

When the busy stops, I grieve.

Not over the loss of the person, because when I am with him, I feel alone ~ which is more frustrating and disappointing than actually being alone.  

No. I grieve the loss of the IDEA of love. I grieve the loss of the fantasy I built my life around and upon. I just propped up the reality of the relationship on the ideals I desired and called it so.

But it was like a pretty teacup. It looked good on the shelf, with its trips and events, but when I tried to drink from it, it held nothing to quench my real thirst. A pretty, empty, cup.

So I am creating this new space, a new cup, that I fill with positive, fortunate, and abundant changes that I can drink from and actually be sustained.

Namaste,

C H E Z

 

Shannan's Prayer For Today

Dear Divine Alpha/Omega, All That Is, Whatever That Is,

I am contacting you today to thank you ~

for my anger ~ for the rational, slow burn of outrage I hold within me.

Anger really gets a bad rap down here in the second, lowest dimension from Hell. It's labeled as "bad" and forsaken for a fake, happy-go-luckiness even though we are miserable.

Recently, I have discovered anger to be a glorious thing - indeed, a gift! For it has provided me with the fuel I need for change. It has mobilized me past the constraints of fear and into action.

Thank you for every reminder: for every stupid, crazy, aggravating thing that makes me want to slap him upside the head. Each moment of insanity reassures me that I am doing the right thing.

And thank you further still for restraining my hand ~ because I sure as hell don't need that kind of drama - though he so righteously deserves it.

If you could also please help me in keeping my tongue to myself. Though it would be gratifying to cut him to the quick with some well phrased jabs, that would only keep me engaged with him and diminish me. May my talking, and blogging, about him behind his back bring satisfaction enough.

Thank you, too, for showing me that "Til death do us part" meant when the relationship kicked the bucket.... not when I did. Though I performed every lifesaving measure known to relationships, nothing could resuscitate it. Thank you for telling me to bury the damn thing already, because its putrid carcass was starting to stink up the place.

Please let me hold on to resentment as long as I need ~ to stave off regret. Allow the resentments to remind me that I never, ever, ever, ever, ad infinitum (ever) want to go back into a relationship that was that destructive.

BUT when it is time - when it is no longer useful - help me to release it, because I don't want to end up a bitter, old bitch, either.

And I shout HellYeah!Lujah! Thou hast provided me with a sense of humor. Although others may find my wit irreverent or inappropriate, it surely saves me. And I am so grateful!

Namaste,

C H E Z

 

In A Perfect Storm... Perfect Peace.

"Ethereal" Mixed Media Collage, National Geaogaphic Art Journal Series, Shannan Sinclair

I consider myself a pretty strong person. I mean, don't we all see ourselves in that light? After all the pain, heartache and suffering that we go through, when we come through at the other end of it, don't we think, "Damn! I can't believe I made it through that!"

Well, I have a confession. Sometimes.... I don't feel that strong. Oh, I may look like a B.A.M.F. who's got the tiger by the tail. But when I am alone, and trying to hide under my covers... mmmm not so much.

Sometimes, the pain is agony.

Sometimes I feel utterly alone and completely broken.

But I have also experienced something A-M-A-Z-I-N-G in that.

There have been several times in the past couple of months, where I have been in those moments. I have nothing left in me. No fight. No spark. Empty.

And in the very moment of the deepest dispair a strange and perfect peace embraces me, fills me and refreshes my soul.

Just when I think - I can not go on any further... I am restored.

Namaste,

C H E Z

Follow Your Heart - OR DIE!!!!!

So I watched Oprah today.

I don't usually watch Oprah. I have nothing against her... I just don't like sappy, overdramatized, preachy things. I like authenticity. And although she preaches authenticity - it doesn't feel authentic to me.

I want REAL. Like, really really REAL.

I like my sunshine with some clouds...

my flowers in the dirt...

I like my tears... not to be a pretty, little well-up with one sliding down my cheek.... I like tears with snot and sobs and black, mascara eyes that leave a salty rind encrusted on my face.

But I watched Oprah today, featuring Tom Shadyac, the director of Ace Ventura, Bruce Almighty, Nutty Professor, who gave up the so-f-ing-rich-and-successful life, for a REAL one.

It hooked me. It touched me. And it reminded me of several things about myself that I have let go to seed.

I haven't been living my purpose. I know my purpose. I yearn and crave to be fulfilling it. BUT I continuously put it aside and give my energy away to purposes that are not from my own heart. I get distracted and off-track.

Oprah said today.... "Each day we live not doing our heart's desire... we die a little."

That resonated with me. I know that little inkling of death. I feel it when I close my eyes at the end of a day that I have been completely out of touch with my soul's reason for being.

So I am putting a little Posty on my bathroom mirror that reads - "Follow Your Heart - OR DIE!"

Every morning... as I floss my gums... I will repeat it in my head and go into my day following my heart.

Namaste,

C H E Z