A Phoenix Rising

(Note: I left the photos out of this post so that you could imagine all of this for yourself. Except the plant itself. You have to see the plant. Oh, and maybe get a cup of tea or coffee. This is a long one.)

In the Amazon jungle grows a wild and gnarly vine called Ayahuasca, aka "the soul vine". It has been used by shamans for many hundreds (maybe even thousands?) of years to call in the spirits of nature to guide humans to a higher understanding of themselves and the intricate workings of the universe. Last week I had the opportunity to partake in an Ayahuasca ceremony. It was a wild ride that I will never forget. Ever. 

Two shamans, one a local First Nations elder and one a gringo shaman working with traditional Amazonian shamanism knowledge, led the ceremony, which lasted nearly five hours. Likely the longest five hours of my life. As I write this, my heart is thumping, my guts rumbling and I feel a shiver with a deep chill, as the plant medicine resides within me many days after the ceremony has ended.

Ayahuasca takes us deep within our own psyche to face our fears, overcome our inner obstacles and test our limits, as well as to impart wisdom and new ways of being upon us. Every participant will experience a unique adventure and it will be different each time that this plant medicine is consumed.

Here is my recollection of my first journey down the Ayahuasca rabbit hole...

A group of six participants and two shamans gathered into a cozy room with large windows on two sides. Before we began, both shamans opened cases filled with jars containing various dried plants and carefully laid out feathers and instruments of all kinds, as well as their ceremonial pipes.  

 The two shamans smudged us (and the cat who joined in) with special perfumes and smoked herbs to purify us for the sacred ceremony. It was nightfall and we all hunkered down into piles of pillows and blankets as we anticipated the start of the ceremony. We had followed specific dietary and lifestyle guidelines for the week leading up to this night. The plant medicine does not react well with competing elements. It is referred to as a jealous plant medicine.

We were advised to refrain from speaking or touching anyone else during the ceremony and to try our best to avoid leaving the ceremony, other than to use the washroom. We were all given our very own "purging pail", as vomiting is a common side effect.

I was the only newbie in the room and I was told that first-timers get a half dose of the plant medicine, as to ease into the journey. We all took our turn receiving the elixir and most people cringed as they choked down the harsh tasting fluid. After I swallowed it I said to the shaman "huh! It's not nearly as awful as I thought it would be!"  He replied with a smirk, "Just wait until you're vomiting it up all night long." Alrighty then. This should be interesting, I thought. Too late to turn back now...

Once all eight of us had drank the medicine, the lights were turned out and we reclined into our pillow nests to enjoy the ceremony in complete darkness. The shamans invoked the spirit guides and began to drum and chant in foreign tongues.

After about 20 or 30 minutes, my body began to tingle all over and I felt myself yawning and getting a bit sleepy. One of the shamans called each of us up, one at a time, to have a private ceremony where he sang, chanted and played various instruments to help each of us with our individual journey. I was called up second in line. As soon as I stood up, I felt like I was inside a big ship, rocking around on the ocean waves. I reached for my bucket, just in case, even though I wasn't at all queasy. I sat down in the darkness, knee-to-knee with the shaman as he lit some dried herbs to smudge me with. I immediately got an intense rumbling in my lower abdomen and awkwardly told him that I needed a washroom break immediately. He said he could wait for me, so I dashed toward the glass patio door with bucket in hand. 

I stumbled to the outdoor washroom, the pathway and interior illuminated by party-style rope lighting. As I entered, all of the harmless spiders in their webs that I had noticed before the ceremony, had suddenly become animated and intimidating. The washroom seemed to hum with the sound of these spiders spinning webs and creeping about the room. There was one jumbo spider in particular who I found very off-putting. He was the size of a quarter and red and yellow striped. He lurked in his huge, woven masterpiece next to the toilet. I made it to the toilet just in time. As I sat there, I felt my body cool off to an uncomfortable temperature. I began to shake and tremble like nothing I had ever experienced before. I felt as though I was under a spell. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of being surrounded by spiders, I had a moment of clarity, snapped back to the task at hand, and made my way back into the ceremony building. 

I sat back down in front of the shaman. He proceeded to light more dried herbs and blow the smoke around me. He mumbled something and then I heard him reach for two rattles in the darkness. Simultaneously, he and the other shaman broke into wild chanting and rattling. I instantly felt my guts twisting and churning. I still had my bucket, though I didn't feel the need to use it. Throughout the song, I heard the voice of a friend who had given me a deep tissue acupressure massage earlier that day. He said "BREATHE! Remember to keep breathing." So I did. I briefly opened my eyes to see the faint silhouette of the shaman literally rattling me to the core, as he wildly waved his arms around me. When the rattling ended, he spoke a few more phrases and reached for a pair of eagle's wings. I could hear the ruffling of the huge feathers. He also used an eagle bone as a whistle that sounded eerily like an eagle's cry. I was swept away in a torrent of flapping wings and a powerful breeze that took my breath away. It was beyond surreal. Lastly, the shaman took both of my hands into his and wrapped his warm palms around my icy fingers. He said a prayer to thank the plant medicine for guiding both of us. I thanked him and then made a beeline for the door. I stepped out into the crisp night air and was caught off guard by the loud echoing call of two owls in the dark trees before me. Then a third bird chimed in. It sounded very lonely and almost like it was dying. A swan? Then I laughed and shook my head because I was sure that the other shaman and his assistant were playing mind tricks on me by making creepy noises in the woods. 

I stumbled once more to the outdoor washroom and felt extremely weak as I wrestled with the door that had deer antler handles (that part is real). I was greeted this time by a spider dangling right in front of the toilet and a few earwigs scrambling on the floor, walls and mirror. Ugh. I felt disgusted, but was so ill that I didn't care. I sat there shaking violently as though I were riding a mechanical bull. Was this an exorcism, I wondered? If so, thank goodness! Better out than in!

Again, I achieved a brief moment of clarity and remembered that I should head back inside. The two owls faded away into the distance and as I stepped into the ceremony space, I heard the two men who I had suspected were lurking in the woods. They were right in the same spot that they were when I left. Those were some seriously bizarre bird calls then. I wondered what they were saying to me...

I laid back down in my nest of bean bags and blankets. I buried myself in as many blankets as were within arms reach. I was also wearing sheepskin boots over wool socks, pants, a flannel shirt and a down vest. It was probably about 15 degrees in the room (or for Americans, about 65F or something) but I was certain that hypothermia had me in its grip. I just couldn't stop shaking. 

My own breath felt like a cold Arctic wind on my fingers. I twisted and turned and wriggled around to try to find a warmer position. 

I then rationalized that people don't typically freeze to death in temperatures that warm. Duh.

Meanwhile, in between the seven private one-on-one ceremonies, the shamans performed song after song with drums, chanting (sometimes in a language that seemed like gibberish), and many instruments. There was rarely a break in the music for more than a couple of minutes.

Before long, I felt another rumbling in my belly. I felt like I was in the movie Groundhog's Day. Again?! I begrudgingly wrestled the unnaturally heavy pile of blankets off of me and headed for the door with my bucket. When I reached the washroom, the insects and spiders had appeared to multiply! I felt as though they were having a great time laughing at my expense. Can they actually do that? Cracking themselves up over humans that are silly and uncomfortable around them? Who knows. This time, as I sat there in the cold outhouse, I set the bucket down on the floor and laughed. I suddenly got the message that I was different. Just because everyone else was vomiting into buckets didn't mean that I had to follow suit. My body had a different evacuation plan - obviously!

I went outside and looked up at the clear, starry sky and felt super dizzy. I spun my feet around in circles and decided that I had better go back in and lay down before I got myself lost in the woods. The medicine seemed to have hit a peak of intensity and I was seriously questioning my own judgement.  I crawled into my nest and bundled up. I continued to shake violently. I then felt like someone was laying on my legs...but they weren't. Just another trick. A friend who laid next to me stood up with a blanket around his shoulders like a cape. His silhouette appeared 12 feet high and I was sure he was either Batman or Zorro. Or both. Multiple times. The old tabby cat was hunkered down next to me most of the night. His purring sounded like a machine gun and I could feel it vibrating all of the cells in my body.

The event lasted nearly five hours. My entire being felt so relieved when the shamans closed the ceremony around 3 am, and the room became quiet. Then the talking and laughing began. We all shared our experiences. Most of us were still feeling heavily influenced by the plant medicine. All of my senses felt like they were on steroids. I mentioned that I felt like I was going to freeze to death, so everyone piled more blankets and several sheep skins on top of me. Ahh. Just right. I later realized that I had no verbal filter and words just kept pouring from my mouth for the next couple of hours as I struggled to feel any hint of comfort. Apparently, some of the things that I said were hilarious to some people in the room. I also think some of the other things that I said may have been labeled as rude. I felt as though I was a puppet, possessed by the plant spirits. Eventually, people trickled out of the room and I fell asleep amongst a few friends. When I opened my eyes and saw the light of day, I was stunned and also thrilled to have survived the longest night of my life! Yahooooo! I made it!!!!!

I, myself, was strongly affected the entire next day. I had an ayahuasca hangover. With a lot more toilet time, a severe headache... and even some vomit bucket time. I laid most of the day on our futon, feeling heavy with the medicine. My heart pounding. I was chilled to the bone. I gazed out the window at the trees and just barely forced out a  smile. I had faced my ego head on. I experienced what utter helplessness felt like. I learned that the spiders and creepy crawlers were here to teach me to relax and let go, not to harass me. I learned that I am different. Not a follower. I learned greater patience and to just go with the flow. Suddenly, everything I face each day seems so much simpler. I find myself laughing at my thoughts and actions and at the follies of all humans. 

The spiders are still with me though. Every day. In lots of ways. When I least expect them. I think I had better get used to it. They outnumber me billions to one.

Look for an ayahuasca ceremony near you. Worth every penny!

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

I sit here alone tonight sipping my tea, after a powerful two-hour Skype call with a wonderful friend. It had been a couple of weeks since we had last spoken. We thought we knew what the topic of conversation would be, but after about 5 minutes the conversation took an unexpected turn. 

Instead of smiling all pretty and saying "I'm doing great. Life is perfect!", like so many of us want each other to believe, we both openly shared how we were feeling: afraid. Our lives are very different, yet, underlying it all is a sense of insecurity. An uneasiness. A feeling of disconnection. A feeling of unclarity. We ask ourselves: Who am I and why am I here?  Why is our society generally focused on all of the wrong things? Why do so many of us have hundreds of Facebook friends, but yet we feel isolated and alone? Why do we go to jobs that we don't love? Why do we feel like we need to prove ourselves to the world? Why???

From 150 Love Notes by Sugarboo 

We both shared stories of ourselves and others we know who are in a current state of what I would best describe as bewilderedness. People of all ages and races, both sexes and in various life circumstances are feeling lost. People are feeling trapped. People are feeling depressed and some are panicking. People are feeling hopeless and helpless. People are all around exhausted.

We, at least in the "developed" world, are all faced with endless daily personal challenges: health, family, work, debt, rent, mortgage, fitness, looks, material possessions and of course, keeping up with the Jones's! None of this is what really matters. We have forgotten how to connect with one another, how to listen and be compassionate. Humanity's ship is sinking and no one knows how to swim. Is this even possible?! Where are the life rafts? Well I'm here to say we ARE the life rafts. For each other. We must all hold hands and together we will stay afloat.

As my friend and I talked, we both allowed ourselves to be vulnerable. We cried. We cried hard. It was sad, but also somehow so comforting to know that others understand what we are experiencing. We are all in this together. This turbulent time in history as human beings.

We lamented about how devastating it can be to watch people we care about self-medicating to numb the all-consuming overarching discomfort. People are over-shopping and over-eating. They're using all manner of drugs and alcohol to calm their nerves and bring themselves back to a state of being able to cope with our current global crises. There are workaholics and sexaholics, neat-freaks, hoarders and even exercise-aholics.  We all have our own way of coping. But the truth is that none of these things are getting us closer to the real answers. They're just band aids to cover up the wounds. If we fill our brains and time with stuff and substances then we don't have to think about the stuff lurking in the shadows.

After two hours of connected conversation, we hadn't solved any of the worlds problems, let alone our own. But...we both felt incredibly grateful to have a close friend that we can share so openly with and not feel ashamed or embarrassed that we are experiencing being fully human. 

I told her that I have recently discovered that I have an over-active adrenal system as a result of excess stress (some self-administered) for the last 30+ years. Being a highly sensitive human compounds it all, too. Even though I no longer live a very stressful lifestyle, my body has been thrown out of balance and I am determined to rebalance myself. The hardest part for me has been the lack of knowledgeable healthcare professionals. I have probably consulted with a dozen doctors of various backgrounds over the last two years. The latest doctor whom I consulted told me she didn't know how to help me, but she offered to "go home and google the symptoms tonight on my computer while I have the other eye on the TV". I told her thanks, but don't bother, I can use google too. Seriously. It's safe to say that my faith in the western medical system is hanging by a spiderweb strand (and that's even being kind). So back to the drawing board I go. I will be experimenting with my own ideas from here on out and following the paths that the universe lays down before me. If anyone has any amazing ideas, please share. 

My partner is currently at his first Ayahuasca ceremony for the remainder of tonight. He's on a mission to gain a clearer vision of who he is and why he's on earth at this time. I eagerly anticipate hearing all about his otherworldly experience. Maybe plants hold the wisdom and answers to our human questions and concerns in this age of chaos....

The Red Road

We take a short ride up-island to visit a cousin. While there, we walk through some forest trails to a pub, where cousin's girlfriend is working, to bring her some homemade supper. We don't intend to stay long, but end up grabbing a seat on the ocean view patio in the warm summer sunset air. I don't drink at all, but the evening is pleasant and I'm in good company. After a few minutes, a waving arm catches my eye. It's a middle-aged Native man sitting alone, kept company by some colorful wooden carvings. I will call him John. 

I instinctively stand up and walk to John's table. We shake hands and I sit down for what turns into a two-hour life lesson. I knew immediately that I was at this pub just for this encounter. He sips a mug of beer and smiles as wisdom pours continually out of his mouth. He hands me a carving. It is a large eagle feather, about a foot and a half high, chiseled by his hands and painted with the traditional red and black colors of the northwest native art. I already know that it's coming home with me. (And most people that know me know that I rarely purchase much unless it's edible or wearable.) I ask John how long it took him to make it. He says about a week start to finish. I remark on how flawless it is and he tells me that he's been honing this carving skill for 33 years. It's how he makes a living, and as he points to the pink clouds over the coastal mountains, he tells me that when he can spend his time in this place using nature as inspiration, he can't possibly imagine going back and working a 9-5 job. He says he's been a logger, a fisherman and everything in between from age 16. He left home and school early to help pay for his family to survive. 

Do you sell at craft markets?, I ask. He lets out a big belly laugh and shakes his head no. Tourists got old pretty quick and I was always being asked to pose in awkward photos as "the Indian guy". I didn't like the way people seemed to view me as a kind of exhibit, instead of just a person selling beautiful art. 

I smiled at him and said good for you for respecting yourself, and said that I promised that I wouldn't ask for an awkward tourist photo.

He says he's 54 years old but I wouldn't  guess he is a day over 40. I ask what his secret is to looking so youthful. He smiles a big grin and says UNCONDITIONAL LOVE.  He tells me that no matter what life deals him, his love for his children, and grandchildren and the natural world, paired with his creativity in carving are what make life so wonderful. This makes perfect sense to me.

I ask him more about this carving. I point to the black and red stripes on the quill end and ask what they mean. He explains that his people believe that the two black roads represent darkness and anger, the Red Road down the center represents balance, spirit and divinity. He points to the line of pink clouds in the fiery sunset and tells me that the red road is visible twice every day and that we must all take a moment to be grateful for the miracle of life. 

He beams as he talks about his 3 daughters. He mentions his ex-wife and how ugly their relationship became. He looks at my fiancé (who has now joined in the conversation) and I and says very seriously that communication is the most important thing in any relationship. Keep all of your cards on the table at all times. Don't hold any emotions back. Share your gratitude with each other. Share, share, and share some more. He urges the two of us to live our passions starting now, because nothing else matters. Support each other. What you have together is sacred. None of this outside stuff matters. 

I learned all of this a bit too late, he sighs, and sips his beer. He tells us that he knows that he drinks alcohol to numb the sadness, even if it's only for a little while. Self-medicating, he calls it. John says he's been to too many counselors and therapy and it never helped him much. He had a rough life as a youngster, including attending a residential school, and it has carried on with him through the years. My heart ached for him and for all of the native people around the world. 

I finally realize how late it's getting and tell him that we have to head home. I also say that the feather is going to come home with me and that it will remind me of this great meeting. He says that his phone number is written under the base of the artwork and that if it happens to get damaged that I should call and he will try to repair it. He also mentions that he makes custom art for wedding gifts and that we should call him to come and paint a wedding piece together to symbolize our unity. 

We thank him for his wisdom and he sheepishly nods his head and slips into the pub. A few minutes later he comes back out onto the patio with another beer and a big smile. I put my hand on his shoulder and say, remember the Red Road and take it easy on the beer. 

The Gift of Life: Part Two

Meanwhile, while I was completely immersed in my teenaged mutant ninja hermit phase, my family was sure I was going crazy (and some days I wondered if they were right...but now I know that I was totally fine!). So they took me to numerous specialists and eventually, after testing half a dozen meds, had me put on a one called Effexor XR. It numbed me to a place where I was neither excited or sad. Just a steady dullness enveloped my every waking moment. I even stopped having dreams at night for years on end.  I remained on that medication for nearly 7 years. I think that while under the influence of its spell, I didn't have the wherewithal to realize that I was being totally compliant with leading a very dull and unexciting existence. 

During that time, at age 22, I unexpectedly conceived with my partner. I consulted with several doctors who said that my original prescribing doctor (or any other doctor at all???) should have explained the severe risks involved with pregnancy and this medication. I was furious. I felt so uninformed and totally abandoned by the western medical system that we all accept as "normal". After weeks of strong encouragement from doctors, and with mountains of sadness and guilt, we decided to end the pregnancy. That choice still brings up many strong emotions for me. Throughout the years, I have done counseling, journaling and healing work to forgive myself and everyone else involved in that life-changing event.

THEN...eventually I had a spark of awakening and inspiration in 2007, at age 25, and weaned myself off of Effexor, which took me nearly 6 months of pulling one more micro bead each day out of the tiny capsules (my own idea). I learned what patience meant. It was very powerful stuff and the withdrawal symptoms were horrific when I tried to wean off of it the way that the doctor instructed me to. I still wonder to this day what long-term effects it may have had. Anyone know about this??

In summarizing this info, I urge you to avoid unnecessary Rx medication of ANY KIND.  INFORM YOURSELF AND SEEK  NATURAL ALTERNATIVES TO PHARMECEUTICALS WHEN POSSIBLE. They may save lives as a last resort, but please, please do your homework before handing over that little Rx sheet. There are dark sides to many, many common medications. 

Since those Rx days, which ended in 2007, I have been excitedly rediscovering my special gifts and skills as if for the first time. I liken it to relearning to walk or talk, or use motor skills after a severe injury. I had squashed them down in a deep, guarded compartment for many years and tried to pretend that I was "normal".  

In fact, until a month ago, I still didn't fully realize the full extent of who I really am and what I have to learn and share with humanity. In early June, I attended a workshop that I happened to see advertised locally titled "highly sensitive children". It was geared toward parents who are raising kids with special abilities such has telepathy or clairvoyance. I knew immediately that I had to attend. All I can say is that the day was a huge game-changer for me. I spent at least the first hour in tears from a wild combination of reassurance and disbelief that there are probably millions of others on the planet who share a similar experience of life with me!

By the end of the workshop, I was full of excitement and eagerness to learn more about this human phenomena and to build connections with others from the group and beyond. 

I have since been asked to host some workshops on this topic myself, which was an unexpected turn of events. I have heard numerous times that whatever our deepest hurts have been, that these are the things that we can share with others to help change the world. My calling seems to lie somewhere between guidance counseling and supporting fellow HIGHLY SENSITIVE PEOPLE.  

Do you or someone you love share similar experiences with what I have described? Please pass this on to those who may benefit from reading this. I  am always happy to work with anyone who is interested in learning more. 

Alongthehearttrail@gmail.com

The Gift of Life: Part One

For most of my life I have had a constant feeling that I experience everyday life in a way that is unique and unknown to most people. I knew it when I was a young child, spending the majority of my time in nature, seeking its safety and wonder, listening to the trees, organizing my large collection of crystals and gemstones that were a magical gift from my grandma...and I was always surrounded with a plethora of various pets and wildlife. I felt that I could connect with animals (and plants) more than the others in my circle of friends and family (except maybe my little sister. I'm quite sure that she has these skills, and now her 8 year old son does, too).  I think my gift of animal communication was shattered when I had a severe horseback riding "accident" at age 14. I lost my lust and confidence for animal communication and felt like I had failed my horse. I "outgrew" my animal phase. 

At age 7, I was singled out with a handful of other students, tested, and labeled as "gifted and talented".  By who's standards? For the remainder of my grade school years, our group met weekly to hone our "gifts and talents". I never really thought much about it though. It seemed normal enough at the time. We all looked forward to an annual convention of the G&T called Odyssey of the Mind. From early elementary and onward, we did things like build balsa wood bridges to see who could engineer the strongest one. We also wrote, acted in, and directed our own plays -soundtracks included. We practiced brainstorming, had philosophical discussions and polished up on our problem-solving skills. It was a non-stop mind challenge.

Outside of school, I grew up in a household that was quite violent and very tense. There was lots of shouting, which I always ran and hid from, and even sometimes when it was really intense, there was throwing and smashing of various objects. There were often forceful physical assaults, which I was never once involved in, only a witness to on numerous occasions. 

I have always had a photographic memory. It is a curse and a blessing. I can remember things from at least 25 years ago in fine detail. The good, the bad and the ugly. It was extremely useful in school when it came time to take exams. I would have a flash of the exact paragraph in a textbook where the answer to a question was. I have pretty much everything from the last 32 years of life stored in my visual memory. On a regular basis now, random moments in history pop up in my consciousness. Things that I didn't even consciously know that I saw or experienced at the time. What people were wearing, the music in the background and what the weather was like on any given day. 

As a child with extremely high sensitivity to other people's (and animals') energy, I struggled with all of this. A LOT. I learned the habit of emotional eating from my parents. So I became the chubby kid. My big brother teased me relentlessly and had cruel nicknames for me until I was a teenager, when I finally joined sports teams, ate healthier and slimmed down to normal-ish. I also cried often as a kid. Pretty much daily. I was often very sad and so afraid for myself, my family and our pets. 

I was always the overachiever in the family, much to my two siblings' dismay. I was a straight-A Honor Roll student most of my 12 years of school and was always striving to prove myself to the world. Somehow though, nothing any of us did was ever good enough for our father. Why weren't the A-minuses A-pluses?? He had (and still clings to) extremely high hopes for me. He told me repeatedly that I would make a great doctor or lawyer someday.  I knew he was wrong. Those things were not in my destiny. At least not this time around. 

Finally one day in grade 11, at age 16, I couldn't cope with the violence and pressure at home and at school ANY. MORE. My body, mind and spirit started to crumble. I developed severe anxiety, including a debilitating fear of traveling in enclosed vehicles with other people (cars, buses, airplanes, subways, etc) regardless of who they were. 

When IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) was a brand new discovery back then, I was labeled with that, too. I felt just awful! I quit attending high school a few weeks before grade 11 final exams, and I insisted on homeschooling myself for grade 12. It took a boatload of convincing but I did it, with the help of a very supportive tutor and his wife, who became my second family for that year. 

My closest friends had no idea what was happening because I was really embarrassed and very confused at the time. I spent nearly the entire year of grade 12 holed up reading and writing and spending tons of time in nature. I was constantly asking myself "what is the meaning of all of this?!". I knew that my life just had to be about more than this ugliness that I had experienced so much of for those early years of life.

My search began for the answers to some really tough questions:  "Why am I here? What can I do to make my world a better place? Is this the reality that everyone experiences? Is life this scary for other kids? How did I end up in this family? Am I going nuts? Will I wake up and realize that this was all a bad dream?" 

To be continued...(it was too long to fit into one blog post.)

The Lost Art of Committment

commit[ kuh-mit ]

verb (used with object) [com·mit·ted, com·mit·ting.]

1. to give in trust or charge; consign.

2. to consign for preservation

3. to pledge (oneself) to a position on an issue or question; express (one's intention, feeling, etc.)

Commitment. To people. To events. To your work. To yourself.

It's a rare thing these days. I, myself am guilty of the occasional "back-out" or avoidance of a situation that I wish I hadn't said yes to. However, I try my best to hold myself accountable to the people and events that I said I would be present for.

I have observed a few things lately that I will share about present-day humans and their commitment-phobias:

1. Texting/email/Facebook makes for (seemingly) very easy cop-outs. There is no emotion shown or exchanged, only emotions left to be interpreted via typed words. There is no disappointed faces to be seen (emoticons do NOT count, in case any of you were thinking that). No sad or angry hearts to contend with. One more huge strike against technology...in my opinion.

2.  If you don't want to do something....JUST.SAY.SO. Be honest. Waiting until the last minute is much worse and frustrating and disappointing for others. Geez! For Pete's sake, stand up for your right to make your own choices- but for Pete's other sake, stick with your first instinct. Be legit. Commit. Otherwise people may start referring to you as flaky. No one wants that label, right?

3. The grass is always greener? No. No, It's not. If you commit to something, do it. Don't back out because an easier or more fun offer came up last minute. 

4.  Think before you start telling everyone what your plans are. Make sure that you are fully committed in your own heart before saying you will help someone or show up somewhere. You are allowed to say "I'll think about that." Or "Let me consider that option."  Or "I'll get back to you."

5. Humans seem to be losing touch with our innate compassion for and connection to other humans. Start holding yourself and others accountable and set an example. Especially for the younger generations.

SO:

Let's stop being fickle flounder-ers and start being wonderful accountable, reliable, caring human beings again!

Ok. That's all for today. I hope you committed and read this whole post. 

If so, congrats. Give yourself a high five. You are one of endangered species of accountable humans left. Hopefully they will repopulate and be flourishing again soon. 

PS. I tried to partly write this post and then let myself get distracted and make up reasons in my mind why it wasn't that important. Then I called bullshit on myself. And finished the post. Yay me. Committed. 

PPS. Apparently there are two ways to spell the word commitment/committment.  Depending on which dictionary you are referring to. Seems ironic. 

The Cocoon Phase

Images from Sugarboo Designs. 150 Love Notes booklet.  So lovely!

I just looked at my last blog post and it's been one month since I have had the inspiration to write. Whoa! That is the longest that I have gone without a post since I started this blog, just over a year ago. Hmmmmm...red flag?

This actually confirms something huge for me: that I was feeling uninspired which means that I was living a relatively uninspired period of my life. How sad is that? Can anyone out there relate to that feeling?  Yeah, pretty much everyone? Which brings me to the topic of this post... Why aren't we all living and speaking our passions and feeling alive and inspired every single day of this short gift called life? You can try to make up a million and one excuses, but do yourself a favor and don't bother. I will have a comeback ready for all of them. There is no good excuse...just our own fears getting in the way of our happiness.

I recently realized that the job that I was  working for only four short months was not getting me any closer to living my passions. Like most "jobs", it was a great way to meet new people, make a wage and keep myself busy- because that's what we all seem to think we are supposed to do. Don't get me wrong. I loved all of the people that I worked with and the connections with customers and sharing laughs and teaching and learning. And helping people. Helping people to love and empower themselves. That's what I really love to do. This may not come as a surprise to you.

The pieces of the puzzle have been showing up for me for several years but it has taken me until now to realize what they all mean.  I feel like I should have realized this a year ago when I began blogging to help myself and others to live a more authentic life. Or maybe I could have clued in when I opened a used clothing store and everyday, for several years, dozens of people came in to talk, not to shop. Well it's never too late to start living your passions. 

So. This is me announcing that I will be embarking on a journey to help others to love and empower themselves and live their passions. I know this has already been happening to some degree. Now I am making it my main focus. It's what I love to do. It makes me happy to see others improving their lives and giving themselves the love that we all deserve. I'm still not totally clear on how this will all come together, but I know for certain that it's happening piece by piece. 

I have been working with a book called The Passion Test. It has really helped me to differentiate my passions from my hobbies and goals. I now have a clear list of my top passions as of today. Passions change. Life is full of change. So make sure you aren't stuck in that life that you wanted 10 years ago, but that isn't suiting you today. It happens too often. 

The last month has been part of my cocoon phase. I have had at least 3 or 4 other cocoon phases in my life so far. It's what happens when something big happens in life that forces me to stop and look at the bigger picture.

 I stop doing the things that aren't moving me closer to peace and happiness. I sift out the people who aren't enriching my life. I make more time to do the things that I love. The things that make me ME. All of these things combined creates a cocoon-like state where I can be and know myself. Unadulterated. Uninfluenced. Unwaivered. Each time, I have emerged as a brighter and happier version of myself. A butterfly. Try it. I dare you.

PS. PLEASE contact me if you are seeking some soul guidance. Even if you are across the globe, I will be happy to help you to live your soul's passions. 

Alongthehearttrail@gmail.com