ORIGINAL BLISS

Wake Up Call

 

He whispered in my ear this morning.

The clock read 6:30.

What the eff??? He couldn't wait for a decent hour? I mean, I work nights...I had a 14 hour overtime shift I was trying to rest for!

But nooooooooooo....what does he know about timing?

"I wish people would remember the things I did in my life, the way I acted toward people, the things I said to them, how well, and deeply, I loved and cared for them."

"Uh huh," I mumbled, rolling over, trying to find a cool spot on the sheets.

"People say they understand, yet the words they speak and the way they act, don't reflect that."

"Yeah, I know." I squish the pillow over my ears. "Please please please let me sleep." I say that just to myself, not to him.

"They spend a lot of time pointing their fingers at the very same people I devoted my life to...the poor, the sick, the hungry, the outcasts. Their words ring of judgement, not love. They separate rather than unify."

He was on a rant now.

"They say it's the truth, but it isn't my truth. It is the complete opposite of how I went about fulfilling my life's purpose. 

Yet, they do it in my name!

Which, quite frankly, pisses me off...

even more than that day when I went all hyphee in that temple."

"Jesus!" I half cried, half took his name in vain.

"Yeah."

"Duuuuuude! I'm really trying to sleep here and your getting all deep and philosophical and shit. Does this have to be right now?"

"Well, it is the only time you slow down and shut up long enough to listen."

True that. He got me there.

He was quiet long enough for me to start slipping back into La-La Land.

"I wish people would realize that my second coming was never going to be me descending from the clouds on a golden UFO."

Oh, geez....I'm awake again. That's gonna bum some people out.

"My second coming is every day...

in every heart...

the moment you remember WHO YOU ARE...

that we are one...

and when you take up my mantle and continue the work that I started."

He let me sit with that. I mean, what could I say? He was right. As usual....

I started drifting back to sleep.

"Hey, Shannan."

"Yes, Jesus."

"Could you imagine what kind of world it would be if just one person remembered who they were for just 10 seconds?"

I could imagine that.

"Could you imagine them in that moment being completely full of the love they were created with?"

I imagined that, too, and smiled. 

"And then, what if they passed just a fraction of that love on to one other person? Could you imagine the ripple effect that would create? What your world could be like?"

I imagined that, and it filled me with joy, and peace, and a mass of Christ.

"Hey, Jesus."

"Yeah."

"If I blog this conversation will you let me sleep?"

"Deal."

 

 

Namaste,

Shannan

Letting Skeletons Out of the Closet

"The Lovers" Thoth Tarot

 

I have been an avid student and practitioner of the Tarot for over 20 years. Only my closest friends and family know this, just as they are the only ones who know of the years I have spent studying all things esoteric and doing clairvoyant readings.

I spend most of my life in a black and white world, (don't we all?), where we judge things only by what we see and what can be rationalized with our minds. It can be difficult to reveal intuitive insights, for fear of judgement and invalidation. Although mine have been known to "slip out" at inopportune times, it is something I have really tried to keep in the closet.

I don't read Tarot cards every day, or even every week for that matter. I use them as a tool. Some days, I can meditate and hear divine guidance as clearly as if God was whispering directly in my ear. And some days I need help. Contemplating a situation with Source and pulling cards, helps me see the energies around what is going on in my life.

It is so funny, and so "no duh", that I sat down this morning to do a reading about the choices I am making and something told me to check my growth journal. 

I have kept a chart tracking the growth cards for every year since the year I was born and journaling the events around those years in my life. I haven't looked at that chart in 5 years.

But I listened to the suggestion, pulled out that chart, realized that 2013 is a "6" year for me. It is a year where my birth date and month and year add up to the number 6. 6 also happens to be my soul and personality number...I was born a 6. 

Every 6 year has been a year when I have chosen to change the course of my life completely. They are huge transition and transformation years for me. 

The Lovers card is the 6th card of the Major Arcana. It is the card that reflects what this year is about for me. The Lovers is about synthesis. The union of the divine in us with the divine in the universe. It is about combining the elements of head AND heart, intellect AND feeling. It is about making choices between security and a risk of some kind...or between the old and the new. It is about the freedom from bondage. It is about integrating ALL of who we are and not holding anything back anymore.

I'm kind of disappointed that I only realized this today because helps me understand what I have been going through this year--what all the trials and tribulations have been leading up to. But if I knew all this was coming, I would have been petrified and would have resisted it more.

Knowing this now, I can embrace the choices and changes I am making.

It was meant to be all along.

Namaste,

Shannan

In the beginning..........................

 

In the beginning

..........................

was the song

..........................

..........................

..........................

A sound..........................

         A hum..........................

                            A frequency..........................

..........................

Sweet, infinite symphony

..........................

singing across the eternal nothing

..........................

..........................

..........................

until

..........................

..........................

..........................

something

.

form & structure

.

strings & strands

.

matter

.

mana

.

.

.

The song : the heartbeat

.

.

.

Blessed ॐ

.

Divine Amen

.

I Am

 

 

Namaste,

Shannan

 

Chicken Soup for the Cynic's Soles

There is nothing like a walk in the rain; the hushed whisper of the showers through the leaves, the sweet taste of droplets on your tongue, having the sidewalks and the park all to yourself.

As I strolled the rolling walkways of my neighborhood park, I happened upon an old, oak tree. The recent storms had stripped it of most its leaves and the ground was littered with acorns.

Reminded of a story, I stopped to contemplate them.

I am sure it was Jack Canfield who first exposed me to the story, back when Chicken Soup for the Soul first came out. That was before there was a Chicken Soup for Teens, Chicken Soup for African Americans, Chicken Soup for the Canadian, Chicken Soup for the American Idol, Chicken Soup for the Cat Lover, Dog Lover, NASCAR Lover, Beach Lover, or Your Lover's Lover... (these exist)...

...way back before they started making Chicken Soup for the Soul Chicken Noodle Soup. (uh. yeah. no lie. PROOF HERE! )

Way, way back...before Chicken Soup made you puke.

He talked about how within every acorn lies the potential to be the fully realized oak tree. 

He was making a point, that within each of us there is the potential to realize our greatness, our best self.

Very inspiring stuff.

Until I looked down at them on the ground in various states of smushed and felt the hard slap of reality in my face.

Sure, within every acorn there lies the POTENTIAL... but not every acorn becomes a tree. Not very many even become a sprout. The chances of an acorn elevating itself out of smushed is less then 1 in 10,000. (gotta love Google.)

The only other opportunity for the acorn to become something of itself is by being picked up by some passing creature and eaten. That lucky acorn gets to become squirrel shit.

Jack Canfield did not convey all this in his story. Apparently, squirrel shit does not make good Chicken Soup.

It was fucking depressing looking down at the wet dirt at all that wasted potential. I couldn't help but identify with these pathetic useless seeds and worry that I, too, am wasting mine.

Then I realized...

I am not an acorn.

I am a human. And human potential is unlimited. The only thing that inhibits our potential is our inability to see and believe in the infinite possibilities within ourselves.

I decided that these acorns today were not destined to become squirrel shit and I picked them up off the ground, carried them home, placed them in a bowl on my mantel to remind me: 

 

neither am I.

Namaste,

Shannan

 

Photos taken on iTouch with Hipstamatic camera app

Numinous Sunday Experience

 

 

Driving through the hills, on my way to manage chaos, allowing the smooth soul of James Morrison to seranade me.

"I got one life... one life... one life... and I'm gonna live it right."

His lyrics lick both spirit and senses.

Along the ridge rain clouds begin to bubble under the sunshine, signs of the percipitation that's to come. I feel the same, welling up right along with them; bouyant with happiness and deep peace, yet at the same time pierced deeply with a sadness that saturates me with unshed tears. I am both completely contant and overwhelmed by lonliness.

"I got one life... one life... one life... and I'm gonna live it right."

I think about writing. I think about Aislen. What she would do with clouds such as this in one of her many alternate realities.

Would she sweep them away so she could bask in the sun?

Would she tickle them with her fingertips and paint their raindrops across the sky?

Or would she gather them in an embrace and hold them, allowing them the downpour they crave?

"I got one life... one life... one life... and I'm gonna live it right."

A big rig slowly begins to pass me, blocking my view of the clouds.

First, I see the "R", capital and blue, shouting from the side panel. Then an "E" pulls along beside of me.

The truck gains speed as it overtakes my car.

Or maybe I slowed, knowing.

As the truck pulled ahead its message came fully into view.

"WALKER" on its side panel. "WALKER" on its doors. "WALKER" on each one of its 18 massive mud flaps.

"I got one life... one life... one life... and I'm gonna live it right."

The rain came.

And I am not alone.

Shannan

We live in the fiction.

Reposted from shannansinclair.com

What Are We Really Made Of?

 

 

Now that the major thrust of the Dream Walker book launch is behind me, it is back to the writing desk. Since my goal is to have Time Walker completed in time for Christmas, I have to really buckle down and get to work.

Writing is a discipline—not a gift. Some writers may have a really amazing way with words, but they got it on paper because of dedication and stamina—true grit.

One of my favorite things about the writing process is researching the ideas behind what I am writing about. Since my characters have a knack for leaving the physical realm, I spend a lot of time exploring the esoteric, paranormal, mystical, and quantum. Trying to find what lies poutside the box, so I can pull it back into the box. Not so unlike my protagonist, Aislen Walker.

So now that I am taking on the marathon of novel writing, I will not be blogging as intensely. What I will do is share some of the ideas I find during my explorations. Like this lil' nugget from Brian Greene: String Theory in Under 2 Minutes.

Enjoy. Then think about it.

 

What is that vibrating little string? And what makes it vibrate? 

Shannan 

We live in the fiction.

Reposted from shannansinclair.com

An Apology to My Muse

No one likes to say "I'm sorry." But when we have wronged someone, turned our back on them, or invalidated them in some way, we owe them an apology. And I owe my muse an apology.

Yes, I have a muse. It is not uncommon amongst writers, musicians and artists. Homer and Virgil publicly invoked them in their respective epics, John Lennon let his ruin The Beatles, and The Bard dedicated 25 sonnets to his "dark lady." Muses have inspired everything from poetry and music to hairstyles (Google Astrid Kirchherr) and movies (Remember Xanadu?).

Well, I have a muse, too.

While muses are typically female, and in recent times, human...mine's a dude and supernatural.

I know. Weird. 

But those of you who know me from Original Bliss, know I'm a little odd - "kooky" has actually been the term used. But you also know I tell it like it is. So there you have it. I have a little spirit in the closet. Actually, I don't think he's little, he seems like he's quite tall. And he doesn't stick around in my closet or even my house. He mostly roams the Multiverse. If he has a name, I don't know it. It is probably unpronounceable to our Earthly tongue. So I just call him "Muse" when I feel him around or shout out "Muse!" when I need him. He isn't always prompt. Sometimes I have to wait for him. And though I'd like to think we are exclusive, I may not be his only client.

So here's how it happened.

Seven years ago, I had a dream~a whole series of them. And from them came the seed idea for Dream Walker. I guess you can say Dream Walker is based on a true story. Kooky. I warned you. Anyway, I was thus inspired. I plotted out my novel, developed characters and hammered out about 12,000 words. But inspiration faded and I set my book aside.

Three years ago, I pulled DW out again and tried to breathe some life into her. But I basically just smeared those first 12,000 words around in the word processor and called it editing. Dream Walker did not resuscitate.

Then, just over a year ago, my life fell apart. No, really...it completely fell apart. Everything I held dear, my marriage, my family, my home, my dreams for the future, collapsed into ruin. I became deeply depressed. I lived in my bathtub with a bottle of wine, hoping I would sink. 

One night, in the in-between of sleep and stupor, I heard his voice. Out loud. Yes. Crazy shit right there. But maybe you've heard an unseen voice at some time in your life. When you were driving and looked down at your iPhone and you heard "Look up!" just in time to see that traffic was coming to an abrupt stop. So you know what I mean.

He said, "It's time."

That all. And it was as clear as if he was standing right next to my bed. 

Normally I would have responded with, "Time for what?" Scratch that. Normally I would have responded by screaming some profanity because I heard someone who wasn't really there, then I would have asked, "Time for what?"

But I didn't ask. I already knew.

It was time for me to write my book. In an instant it all flashed into my mind. Only it wasn't the book I started writing 7 years ago. Names had changed. Ages were different. The time frame had shifted. It was my book, but new and fresh, and I got out of bed and started writing it.

Writing Dream Walker has been an intuitive process for me. Maybe it is that way for all writers. It only flows when I get my head out of the way. Rationale does not work...intellect fucks it up. Many times I thought I was going one direction only to be told by the character, that no, they weren't. The story was full of surprises--for me. There were times that my gut seized up with a knowing that everything was wrong with a chapter. I absolutely could not write another word. I would have to completely let that train of thought go so Muse would come and work his magic, lighting the synapses of my brain with epiphany.

Muse isn't just genius about storytelling either. He has also been very insistent about what I should do once the book was written, telling me over and over, "Self-publish." He's whispered marketing ideas and promotion suggestions to me in my sleep. He has pointed me toward workshops, websites and blogs specifically geared toward the independent author. Every time I move in that direction, synchronicities happen.

But my head got in the way.

Yes, I know now is an exciting time to be a writer. The opportunities and services supporting independent authors are abundant and incredible. But my head clings to the old ways. It tries to convince me that the traditional route is the only "legit" path.

Get an agent. Have them find the publisher. Self-publishing is only for people who can't make it any other way. I am a coward, afraid of the dreaded rejection slips! I have to earn my stripes by taking my licks! Amanda Hocking be damned!

Muse and I got in an argument. He left in a huff. Alright, I exaggerate. He just shrugged his shoulders and sulked off.. And I went about checking the boxes on my "traditional" route task list so I could start gathering some rejections slips for the scrapbook.

And my gut froze up. Inspiration and enthusiasm left me when muse did. My soul is not in it. 

I swallowed my pride and said, "Muse. If you can hear me across the dimensions, could you please come back? I think I am on the wrong path with this."

He was by my side right away. Even muses don't want to miss an opportunity to gloat and say, "I told you so." Again, he outlined the plan--the Independent, Self Publishing Plan of Action for Shannan Sinclair and Dream Walker. He knew I was still really apprehensive about committing to this plan, so he sent one of his helpers...an elf, a human elf.

This elf sent me an email last week. He has a friend who has the coveted Agent. And her agent scored her a publisher!!!! Her book is going to be published LEGITIMATELY!!!! His friend holds the Holy Grail of Writer's Success in her hands! Contracts have been signed. Her book will be available to the public! In January 2014.

Yes... you read that shit right. JANUARY 2014! TWO FREAKIN' YEARS AWAY!!!!!!!!!

WTF?

Muse was rolling on the floor laughing his ass off. "Told you so." He couldn't help one last dig.

That sealed the deal for me. Dream Walker is NOT going to be published in 2014. It is going to be published March 1, 2012 or very soon after. It will be available on Nook, Kindle, and Apple--electronically. And for those of you who haven't moved into the 21st century yet, I am figuring out how to kill a couple of trees just for you.

In the coming weeks, you'll be hearing more about Dream Walker's release and how you can help my book go viral! Maybe we can organize one of those Flash Mob things? Or maybe we can invade peoples dreams and seed the idea --"Buy Dream Walker today." That would be bad ass... creepy... but bad ass!

Until next time, remember...

We live in the fiction.

Shannan

Reposted from SHANNANSINCLAIR.COM

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

 

Lest I Forget

Namaste.....

Catch Your Wings

   

 

Wash Away - Mat Costa

 

Float down stream, rivers of dreams
Float down stream, catch your wings
Heavens high, so you fly
Catch your dreams in the sky

But the glaciers have frozen your feet
I can't wait for eternity
And so you watched me wash away
But maybe we'll catch up someday
Maybe we'll catch up someday

 

Sun it sinks out of view
Stars they shine changing hue

But bright lights have blinded your sights
They can't adjust when day turns to night
And so you watched me wash away
But maybe we'll catch up someday

The castles we built were so tall
They only left us further to fall
And still I see them far away
But maybe we'll come back someday
Maybe we'll come back someday

Float down stream, rivers of dreams
Float down stream, catch your wings

The castles we built were so tall
They only left us further to fall
And still I see them far away
Maybe we'll come back someday

The castles we built were so tall
They only left us further to fall
And still I see them far away
As I watch them wash away
Wash away...
Wash away...
Wash away...
Wash away...

 

Namaste,

C H E Z