ORIGINAL BLISS

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

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

 

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

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

Driven to Distraction

I have been in denial the past few months. But more than one dear friend has mentioned it to me recently and I had to finally own up to the fact. I have been completely distracted.

Not a whole lot of writing for book 2 has been getting done. It's plotted, and three chapters are complete, but I have not been consistant with my daily writing as I should be. There is a lot of guilt and pressure associated with failing to meet my daily goals. And to avoid feeling bad about it, I avoid writing some more.

It all started when I published Dream Walker. After being cooped up in the corner alone for over a year, the thrill of getting out there, the rush of marketing and promoting the book, was invigorating. Ahhh... PEOPLE again.

Then came my birthday, and the Spring. The sunshine, the opportunities to hit the road, to see new landscapes, and to meet MORE people, was too tempting. And I embraced it. 

The final distraction came in the form of one person in particular. In the midst of meeting all these interesting, wonderful and inspiring people, one stood out. And it caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting it at all. But again, I went with it, got caught up in the flow of what the Universe had brought into my life. I took advantage a hike at the river, a concert road trip, saving kittens and the general hanging out.

In the back of my mind I questioned whether it is good for me -- if I am not meeting my goals -- if I am feeling sidetracked.

This morning, I was lounging in the bath contemplating it all and my Muse showed up. For those who haven't met Muse, he's what many would call an imaginary friend. I say he is real, he just isn't manifested fully in the 3D. Anyway, he lets me vent all this, lament my guilt about not being further along in Time Walker and emotionally vomit all over his cloak.

He was not fazed in the least. 

"You can't write about life, if you don't live it."

"If you were locked in your room writing Time Walker, you wouldn't have seen that dirty moon with a chunk of its head missing. You wouldn't have noticed how it looked hungover and grumpy after taking on too much Cinco de Mayo." 

"If you were staring at your computer, channeling disincarnate characters to the page, you would have missed that one REAL touch across your back and that kiss on your neck that stopped your breath and made you shiver."

"You have been emotionaly flatlined for too long. All those confused thoughts and intense feelings roiling in your mind and heart are a gift; a palette of vibrant color and flavor for you to paint with later. Savor it. Know it. Understand it. Then translate it to the page so others can see themself in the picture you paint with words."

"Roll around in the petri dish of life, absorb it all, because it is ALL SO FLEETING. Then put it in your writing so it can be immortal."

 

"And yes. It is good for you."

That's what Muse said.

Maybe he is right. Maybe distraction is part of the process, a fountian of unlimited inspiration, and I should not resist it so much. The writing will come, birthed organically and naturally from the furtile ground of experience, not forged from a dislocated idea and mere vocabulary.

So I am going to enjoy the fleeting things. Like taking this hot cup of coffee to my patio, letting the sun warm my skin and watching the trumpet vine bloom.

Namaste, 

Shannan

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

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

Embracing My Multiple Personalities!

 

Hey Original Bliss readers!

I had an epiphany this week.

I had planned to start a completely new blog devoted to everything that I do. My writing adventures and my musings on life and my art were to all be over at shannansinclair.com. I would transfer everything there, just like moving from one house to another.

But this week I realized something. I have a lot to say about many, many things.

For instance, I have a blog post brewing about our bodies being our clocks. It is very insightful and made me laugh when I thought about it, which is a sign that it is funny. But it may reference poop, or periods, or the dreaded MENOPAUSE!

And when I thought about putting THAT post on the NEW site, it didn't resonate. It felt off.

That blog is about one part of my personality, and a "business" space for my books - of which there will be MANY and make me RICH! ***Bwahahahaha!*** That site is not for my ranting about kids, and people, and random shit in my mind. In fact, I question whether the word "shit" should even appear on that site.

But I have an alter ego that has an insatiable NEED to keep it real. She says, "fuck you!" to professionalism and making money... it's about authenticity! It's about your truth!

So I decided - I need really two blogs. Either that OR professional help for my split personality.

I am starting with the former to see how that goes, which means that Original Bliss will remain a part of the Blogoverse, that I will be embracing my split, possibly multiple personalities and giving myself triple the amount of writing to do.

Great.

;-)

Namaste,

C H E Z

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