ORIGINAL BLISS

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

Holy Days

The month of November was not good to my family in so many ways. Besides the broken sewer line displacing my family the entire month, we also lost my stepfather to an unforeseen illness. 

It has been an exercise in patience and a lesson in grief, love, and gratitude.

I wish I could say I was the picture of serenity during this trying time, that I didn't lose it, not once, but unfortunately, the stress did get the better of me a few times. 

But unlike other stressful times of my recent past, my break downs were minimal in occurence, duration and intensity. Several blessings helped me hold it together.

My family. The death of my dad brought us together, not without drama (after all, we are Lyons women), but together just the same. Sharing stories of our childhood was amusing and comforting and getting to watch my young nieces and nephews play and listen to them laugh was a reminder that life is short and precious.

 

 

 

 

 

I spent time looking out at various landscapes, finding beauty not only in the obvious places, but when I changed my perspective in unusual places as well.

 

 

 

 

I am feeling reconnected with my creativity again. 

Last but not least, I am not the same woman I was a year ago. I am stronger and wiser. I have a better support system and have surrounded myself with more loving and open people.

So in the midst of the crazy that will forever be called November 2012, I was actually happier than I would have ever imagined possible.

Namaste,

Shannan

 

Photo credit: Dan Zampa & Shannan Sinclair 

At Least I Have a Pot to Piss In

 

Well, it's a Homer bucket, and it's actually for #2 because we save all our #1's in the real toilet for the once a day flush we think the pipes can handle.

It all began on October 23rd when one of our bathtubs filled up with...well, filth. I have a photo of that too, but I will spare you.

It took the property management and owner of my house 3 weeks to figure out the sewer line is broken. 

The kicker is that it has been 22 days since they determined that, and they have yet to make a single move toward fixing the pipe.

I love this house. It is beautiful.

It manifested for me at the perfect moment, when I desparately needed to leave the worst thing that ever happened in my life. For a year and a half, this space has filled me with serenity every time I walk through its door. But for the past three weeks that zen has faded and turned sour.

Besides shitting in a bucket...which is the worse of it...we cannot shower. Well, we do. We plug the clean bath, wet ourselves with cold water, turn the water off while we soap and shampoo, then rinse with lukewarm water. We wash dishes, which we use sparingly, the same way. We do laundry at a public laundromat. 

Today I am waking up to the forecast of 5 days of rain. So the pipe being fixed won't be happening even if the homeowner was making the slightest effort to remedy the SHITuation.

It is an understatement to say that I am losing my mind. Work and commute take 13 hours out of my day and I cannot relax in what was once my home. I am angry. I am depressed. I want to throw shit bombs at my landlord's house.

Today I have been contemplating abandoning ship and moving. But the idea of trying to find a place to live, gathering the funds, packing, and moving before Christmas is about to put me over the edge. I resist what seems to be the obvious and only choice.

I converse with the I AM, asking for guidance. Yesterday, a car driving in front of me had a personalized plate that read: JST W8. And today my I Ching Reading gave me this:

"Whenever we allow ourselves to be drawn off balance, away from the strength of quiet integrity, we are in conflict. It matters not whether the confrontation is between competing values in one's own mind or with another person: it is the inner departure from clarity and equanimity that leaves us with feelings of despair and vulnerability. The only remedy is to disengage from the problem and return to quiet contemplation of what is correct.

Conflict provokes strong feelings of doubt, fear, anxiety, and impatience to resolve the situation. If you act under the influence of these inferior emotions, you will severely complicate the misfortune. By following the prescription of the Sage and returning to a position of neutrality, acceptance, and detachment, you are able to meet opposing forces halfway: not recoiling in anger and condemnation, not pressing forward for some unnatural change in things, but waiting calmly in the center until the Higher Power provides the correct solution."

I don't think I have a correct solution yet. I can't believe I am saying this, but I think I am going to sit here in lotus on my accumulating mountain of shit, and JST W8 for the opening; the clear path for my next move.

My grandma always used to say, "Shannan, the sun always shines on you. When you fall into shit you always come out smelling like a rose." Well, Grandma, the shit is deep now. Hopefully, there are roses ready to bloom in there.

Namaste,

Shannan

 

 

I cry my eyes blind...

My baby.

She's been singing since she was conceived.

I could hear her serenade me from the womb if I sat real still and quiet.

By this time next year, my nest will be empty.

Shannan

Day Trip with Mattéa

Mommy daughter day to San Francisco with the goal of taking portraits worthy of her senior yearbook. We made an adventure out of it.

 

 

 

We headed to the Mission District in search of the vibrant murals so abundant there. Balmy Alley is off the beaten path, but well worth the visit. 

 

 

After we adjusted to the inspiration overload, we got down to business.

 

 

After the Mission District we got back on BART and headed to the Embarcadaro for a few dozen raw oysters and a different backdrop.

 

 

 

 

It was a beautiful day, with one of my favorite people, which makes me very very...

 

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

 

 

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

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

 

 

 

First Peek: Dream Walker

Now that the dust has settled in my life, I am back to REALLY finishing my book. The climax and finale chapters are underway as you read this post.

 

Because I am planning to e-publish it - to generate interest - while I search for an agent/publisher, I have also started planning my marketing strategies, designing covers and preparing a web site. 

This whole novel writing endeavor is arduous. Although the idea for the novel came to me almost 7 years ago, I didn't begin truly gestating it until November 1st of last year. By the time I finish, I will have carried this puppy for 9 months. I am fascinated at how the process is almost exactly like being pregnant with children. 

The uncontrollable eating.

The unbearable anxiety.

The sleepless nights.

The heartburn.

The hemorrhoids.

I can't wait for the damn thing to crown!

My beta readers and I have narrowed the book cover design down to the final two choices. I wanted to give all of you a sneak peek and an opportunity to have a say in which one you like the best. It has basically come down to the font.

Dream Walker is a quantum fiction novel about a young woman who unwittingly stumbles into another dimension and witnesses a murder. What she believed was only a dream, she soon discovers is a reality, and she finds herself in danger of being hunted and eliminated by the people in control of The Stratum.

Please leave a comment as to which cover you prefer! Soon, I will be posting some sample chapters to whet your appetite as well!!!!! Fun! Fun!

Namaste,

C H E Z

Book Cover Photo  ©DepositPhotos / Stanislav Perov