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

Valley of the Shadows

Trying to recall the moment I lost my Self.

Was it back during the awkward days of puberty when I sacrificed pieces of myself to be more like my peers?

Was it when I gave birth to my children and gave up my dreams in order to provide stability and security for them?

Was it when I began a career in a profession I was capable of but didn't love, and began going through the motions in exchange for a paycheck? 

Was it during each of of my failed relationships when I abandoned my needs in order to fulfill my partner's?

Was I ever a Self?

Do I have a Self to find?

Maybe she is in there somewhere...lost in the Valley of the Shadows of D... Disillusionment, Denial, Despair, Deep Dissatisfaction and Death--Death of the self that isn't my Self.

I reached the tipping point in April of this year when I fully arrived at the mid-life pinnacle and crossed its border. But turning 45 wasn't the beginning of a leisurely descent. It was a cliff.

Suddenly, I can't see. Well, I can. But only in the posture of the middle aged.

My arm only extends so far!!!! And it's fucking embarrassing trying to read your iPhone from 3 feet away.

I can't sleep. I'm my grandpa, waking up at 4am, contemplating taking a walk to the donut shop.

I can't remember for shit.

Like what I ate for breakfast.

That was only an hour ago.

Oh yeah, I DON'T EAT BREAKFAST!

I have to make lists. I used to be able to manage every single thing in my life and my partner's and my children's all in my head. It has to be on paper now. And I forget to do that!

Worse, I don't give a shit. I'm like, "Fuck it. I don't want to do that shit anyway."

And not just the shit on the lists I forget...even the shit I used to LIKE to do before.

I lost desire and drive for the things I used to love. Or thought I loved, but don't really know if I love anymore.

I am frustrated and confused.

But mostly, I'm scared. 

I am in free fall and haven't hit bottom.

On the bright side, I still have time to figure out how to fly.

 

 

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

 

Beautiful Mess

"Beautiful Mess" spread — Soul Journal Entry January 3, 2013

Still attempting to clean up my insides...

I don't know what I am trying to say here. Obviously.

The first layer is a letter of apology. Which of course has to be covered in collage—my favorite lock on my diary entries.

 

"Some Kind of Pedestal" — Soul Journal Entry January 3, 2013

Then on the left hand, I see I am naked...

bare...

on a pedestal...

reaching...

possibly for my halo that no longer exists.

 

"Beautiful Mess" — Soul Journal Entry Janurary 3, 2013

On the other, I am no longer on a pedestal, but I am still reaching. I've given up on my halo and would settle for a little enlightenment now. But my consciousness is a dusty moth, not a butterfly.

Then there is the dead fish hanging out to rot there next to me...and a slow moving caterpillar on the bottom right. They mean something, too, I'm sure.

Maybe you can see something in there I don't. Any interpretations out there?

I'm still working it all out. It isn't getting prettier. The page I started today is HELLA hideous. Just wait...you'll see.

Namaste,

Shannan

Throw Open a Window. Let Love In.

"Love Without Boundaries" — Soul Journal Entry January 2, 2013

 

There is a difference between Art Journaling and Soul Journaling. A big difference. And I forget it all the time.

Soul Journaling is not about art. It is not about pretty and all about ugly. It is about processing emotions—complex and crazy feelings—without going through the brain trying to figure them out first.

It is about ripping paper, spooging paint and gesso, digging our fingers into it, and sticking images and riff raff onto a page, WITHOUT THINKING AT ALL!

Being in the thick of it, delving into the depths and throwing the muck into our books. Who the hell knows what we are going to get?

 

Afterwards, when we are spent and panting, we see what we see. It is like reading tea leaves.

"Oh! So this was what THAT was about."

I was in a frenzy during these spreads, massacring magazines in a blind fit then pasting them on the page and writing whatever popped into my head.

In the end, it is about regret. 

Do I feel better now?

No.

More pages to come...

 

Namaste,

Shannan

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

Knock knock...

 

 

I feel the mischievous, disruptive, but ultimately positive forces of change flitting 'round my space.

But I don't know what form they are planning to take.

And that scares the crap out of me.

In dynamic times and difficult situations it is human nature to react by reaching for and clinging to the nearest thing that can buoy us through the rough waters change brings.

We latch onto people and resort to partaking in comforting but unhealthy behaviors. We long to take the low road and lash out--tempted to scream, kick, and resist.

Rarely, do we respond to change in a way that is good for ourselves.

Well, I feel you coming, Change. I see you lurking out there on the horizon. But this time I will be clinging to what is good and superior within myself; to truth, acceptance, and independence.

Namaste,

Shannan

Photo credit: Dan Zampa

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