WTF is Wetiko

I had never heard the word —wetiko— until a couple weeks ago and now it’s cropping up everywhere since it’s on my radar.

From my Google search:

The term wetiko is a Cree term (windigo in Ojibway, wintiko in Powhatan) which, to quote Forbes, refers to “an evil person or spirit who terrorizes other creatures by means of terrible evil acts.”[ii] Wetikos are the human instruments for the transpersonal ‘spirit of evil’ to terrorize the world.

There seems to be a collective query rising up from the huddled masses of humanity who search for answers to everything from Trump to climate change, deadly natural disasters to senseless murders, and a pervasive lack of empathy and compassion.

Is there an epidemic of broken, undeveloped frontal lobes, of dysfunctional, maladjusted, deteriorating, and infected amygdalas?

Narcissism and Cluster B psychopathy run rampant in our culture, feeding on those who still have that innate ability to feel empathy and compassion, who possess a real soul and a kind spirit.

Those dark and toxic parasitic wetiko entities are cannibalistic, predatory, soul-LESS, selfish, and hostile: a cancer of the soul; a shapeshifter.

How sad.

“Just as viruses or malware infect a computer and program it to self-destruct, wetiko programs the human biocomputer to think and behave in self-destructive ways. Covertly operating through the unconscious blind spots in the human psyche, wetiko renders people oblivious to their own madness, compelling them to act against their own best interests. People under its thrall can, like someone in the throes of an addiction or in a state of trauma, unwittingly create the very problem they are trying to resolve, clinging desperately to the thing that is torturing and destroying them.

People taken over by wetiko are suffering from an autoimmune disease of the psyche. In autoimmune deficiency syndrome, the immune system of the organism perversely attacks the very life it is trying to protect. In trying to live, it destroys life, ultimately destroying even itself. In the same way, once wetiko has insinuated itself into a living entity, it acts like a perverted antibody, treating the wholesome parts of the system as cancerous tumors to be exterminated.

This problem is being collectively acted out on the world stage. Humans are destroying the biosphere of the planet upon which we all depend for our survival. Wetiko is at the bottom of the seemingly never-ending destruction we are wreaking on this biosphere. One example is the destruction of the Amazonian rain­forest, the lungs of the planet. Another example is the terminator seeds that are genetically engineered not to reproduce a second generation, forcing farmers to buy new seeds and making life impossible for many poor farmers. If the planet were seen as an organism, and people seen as cells in this organism, it would be as if these cells had become cancerous or parasitic and had turned on the healthy cells, destroying the very organism of which they themselves were a part. Our species appears to be enacting a mass ritual suicide on a global scale. “Paul Levy “Dispelling Wetiko: Breaking the Curse of Evil” Quest 102.4 (Fall 2014): pg. 146-151.

Also from Paul Levy…

“Wetiko disease is an expression of the convincing illusion of the separate self gone wild. Bewitched by the intrinsic projective tendencies of their own mind, full-blown wetikos are unconsciously doing the very thing they are reacting to while simultaneously accusing other people of doing it.

Projecting the shadow onto others, they will accuse others of projecting the shadow onto them. To use an extreme, but prototypical example, it is like someone screaming that you’re killing them as they kill you.

If their insanity is reflected back to them, they think it is the mirror that is insane. Suffering from a form of psychic blindness that believes itself to be sightedness, full-blown wetikos project out their own unconscious blindness and imagine that others, instead of themselves, are the ones who are not seeing.

Governed by the insane, self-perpetuating logic of fear and paranoia, those taken over by the disease fear that if they don’t attack and rule over others, they are in danger of being attacked and ruled over themselves.

In their convoluted, upside-down, flawless illogic, wetikos’ act to their own projections in the world as if they objectively exist and are other than themselves, thinking that they themselves have nothing to do with creating that to which they are reacting.

In wetiko disease, the psyche takes the ‘terror’ that haunts it from within, and in its attempt to master it, unwittingly becomes taken over by it, thus becoming an instrument of terror in the world. We have then become the thing we most feared, ‘creatures of the European nightmare world,’ as we psychologically terrorize ourselves, as well as terrorizing the world at large.

Because full-blown wetikos are soul murderers who continually recreate the ongoing process of killing their own soul, they are reflexively compelled to do this to others; for what the soul does to itself, it can’t help but do to others.

In a perverse inversion of the golden rule, instead of treating others how they would like to be treated, wetikos do unto others what was done unto them. The wetiko is simply a living link in a timeless, vampiric lineage of abuse.

Full-blown wetikos induce and dream up others to experience what it is like to be the part of themselves which they have split off from and denied, and are thus not able to consciously experience – the part of themselves that has been abused and vampirized. In playing this out, wetikos are transmitting and transferring their own depraved state of inner deadness to others in a perverse form of trying to deal with their own suffering.

Paradoxically, wetikos both try to destroy others’ light, as it reminds them of what they’ve killed in themselves, while simultaneously trying to appropriate the light for themselves.

The disease itself is now demanding that we pay attention to it, or it will kill us.”

“An eye for an eye only makes the whole world blind.” ~ Ghandi

Native American philosopher Jack Forbes further adds:

“This disease, this wetiko (cannibal) psychosis, is the greatest epidemic sickness known to man.” We, as a species, are in the midst of a massive psychic epidemic, a virulent collective psychosis that has been brewing in the cauldron of humanity’s psyche from the beginning of time.

Like a fractal, wetiko operates on multiple dimensions simultaneously — intra-personally (within individuals), inter-personally (between ourselves), as well as collectively (as a species). “Cannibalism,” in Forbes’s words, “is the consuming of another’s life for one’s own private purpose or profit.”

Those afflicted with wetiko, like a cannibal, consume the life-force of others — human and nonhuman — for private purpose or profit, and do so without giving back something from their own lives.”


I don’t read much science fiction…I’m a chicklit girl, but my research about wetiko led me to this article about the (deceased) sci-fi author, Phillip K. Dick (you might know him from the Bladerunner.)

Wetiko and The Black Iron Prison: The Enlightened Madness of Sci-Fi Author Philip K. Dick

https://wakeup-world.com/2016/10/01/the-enlightened-madness-of-sci-fi-author-philip-k-dick-wetiko-and-the-black-iron-prison/

Apparently, I’ve only scratched the surface about wetiko, but it scared the living hell out of me. Is this the world my grandson will inherit?

How very, very frightening.

 

 

Featured image credit: https://thetwodoctors.wordpress.com/

 

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Meeting the Dalai Lama. Thaumaturgic.

This is going to be the first in a series of posts about my thaumaturgical, magical, and enchanting encounter with His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama Tenzin Gyatso, is the spiritual leader of the people of Tibet. He was born July 6, 1935. The Dalai Lamas are considered the manifestations of the Bodhisattva (Buddha) of Compassion, who chose to reincarnate to serve the people.

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What does thaumaturgic mean?
…Of, or relating to, the working of magic or performance of miracles.

Lastly, powerfullest of all, least recognized of all, a Noblesse of Literature; without steel on their thigh, without gold in their purse, but with the “grand thaumaturgic faculty of Thought” in their head.
–Thomas Carlyle, The French Revolution, a History

So yes, an otherworldly experience for sure. Because as Emily Dickinson once wrote, “I’m Nobody! Who are you?”

I really am NOBODY. That’s correct. But somehow, the Universe was aligned at this moment in time to bring me to the front row of a press conference with the Dalai Lama at UCSD.

Fourteen years ago, almost to the exact day, I was at Rimac Field in this same intense heat screaming myself hoarse (and annoying everyone around me #sorrynotsorry) as I watched Angel Boy 1.0 graduate with honors. I’m not sure it compares to the day he received his PhD from Yale, but at that point in time, I couldn’t have foreseen the future. Actually I DID, but more on that later.

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I heard that the Dalai Lama was planning to speak at UCSD for two consecutive days; the first public gathering was to be preceded by a press conference and on the following day, he was the commencement speaker for 2017 graduates.

After the year I had endured, one in which I was broken into a million pieces and each of those pieces exploded into a million pieces; this little princess who had her rose colored glasses cruelly ripped off her face and shattered-the shards of glass slicing and ripping apart every tendon and muscle, deeply cutting to the bones, her bones that were now stripped of all flesh– and oh especially her heart, her innocent innocent vulnerable heart…that she could have and DID muster up the wherewithal to apply for media credentials for the press conference is really nothing short of a miracle.

But she did. I did. She persevered. I persevered. She triumphed. I triumphed. She rose from the whirlpool of a sinking boat and she took one breath. And then another. And another.

Apparently, I still live an enchanted life. In spite of everything.

With nothing to lose, you lose nothing by trying. You only have everything to gain.
That’s one of my new mantras.

It’s the ultimate despair to have nothing left. TRUST ME.

Yet another story for another day.

It’s not like I felt unworthy of being in the presence of His Holiness. It was more akin to feeling that this was purely pure serendipity.

And what was my very first thought? It was of fashion, of course. What’s the appropriate fashion statement for an event of a lifetime? I chose a simple Calvin Klein slim line dress and accessorized with a triple strand of pearls. My heels were a respectable height, don’t you think?

We had to submit questions in advance with no assurance that our particular question would be chosen, but I was prepared for anything. After all, when you expect nothing, there are no expectations, right?

True to form, I was one of the first in attendance, and the first to snag the best seat in the house, in the front row, literally six feet or so from the Dalai Lama.

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The energy in the room was palpable. With about one hundred jaded journalists and photographers who’ve seen it all, there was a certain excitement and anticipation; talk of feeling a sense of positive and uplifting spirituality.

When he walked in, His Holiness didn’t immediately climb the riser to sit on the small stage. Instead he stopped to chat with and bless many of us lucky enough to sit in that first row. He said “hello” while looking directly in my eyes, took my hand, and blessed me. His hand was warm and I felt touched on a cellular level.

HE TOUCHED ME.

After Ann Curry formally introduced him (she looked GORGEOUS, by the way), His Holiness spoke for about fifteen minutes (I captured it all on my phone) about compassion and kindness and education and the state of the world, and then opened it to questions. There was a bit of confusion because he didn’t want to be read questions that were previously submitted; instead he wanted to connect to us in the present moment.

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Most people weren’t prepared for that, but I was.

He answered a couple questions about politics and a macro vision of the world (sorry, didn’t pay much attention haha) and then I raised my hand and he pointed at me. Now let me ask you guys, how would you have felt at that moment? Would you be nervous? Scared? Shy?  I felt no anxiety. I asked the question I had previously submitted. He didn’t hear me the first time and I had to repeat myself:

“If you have suffered deep personal and emotional pain, how do you turn that pain and anger into love and compassion and forgive the one who hurt you?”

For the next fifteen minutes, his eyes locked on mine as he spoke directly to me. As if we were the only ones in the room. You could hear a pin drop. There were things he said to me that were conveyed only by thought, I know, because I started tearing up, wiping away tears unashamed to be so emotional and so raw in public. Ann Curry nodded to me, as if she too understood,  and he kept talking, leaning forward to heal my pain cell by cell, deeply and lovingly.

It was the most transformative experience of my life, right up there with the births of Angel Boy 1.0 and 2.0, a moment in time that I’m still processing.

Stay tuned for Part Two and I’ll have video, too.

Namaste, y’all. And #gratitude.

(PS These are all my images, copyright Enchanted Seashells.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting Shotgun…LITERALLY

I don’t like the term “bucket list” because it’s not a pleasing visual and because it sounds way too much like “kick the bucket” but I haven’t figured out anything that sounds more Princess-y.

Let me think…

Dream list? No.

Hurry-up-and-do-things-before-you-die list? Truth, but nope.

Fantasy fulfillment? MAYBE.

Enchanted experiences? YES! I like that a lot. Enchanted experiences it is.

Whatever you call it, I’ve always been interested in what I am not.

Like when I thought I had what it took to be a movie star, I was cast as a streetwalker in a Marty Feldman film (I won’t tell you which one haha.)  I had a vague idea of the job skills of your average streetwalker, but I still did my research and hung around the Gaslamp District downtown to study the behavior of the local streetwalker in her natural habitat.

Apparently, I was a good student, because on the day of the shoot, after my scenes were wrapped, I was walking back to my car still dressed in my costume, and was REALLY AND TRULY propositioned by a man who thought I was a for realz working girl. I was so happy a security guard came to my rescue. Job well done! (Well, not really, but you know what I mean.)

And then there was that brief moment in time right after college and before I did my fifth year to become a teacher, where I thought I wanted to be a TV journalist, so I interned \at a local TV station, an NBC affiliate.

I covered a few crimes, did several live remotes, and learned how to write sharp and succinct copy, a talent I think I’ve totally forgotten, by the way.

Once again, I didn’t stick with that career path either, but I had a lot of fun, until it got boring.

Apparently, I have a short attention span.

My city offers something called the Citizen’s Academy. It’s a free, seven-week program designed to help us learn about our city government to become better informed and involved citizens.

During the police and fire safety class, I asked if it would be possible to schedule a ride along with a police officer. That’s another career I’ve always been fascinated with. I would never have been able to go into police work because of the whole uniform thing. I mean, seriously, not to be able to choose what I want to wear? The same thing EVERY SINGLE DAY? No way. That would be TORTURE. SERIOUSLY.

A couple of weeks later, I got a phone call to arrange a time where I could join an officer during his shift. I chose Friday night because I wanted to see what happens during a DUI stop.

Here’s my public service announcement: DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE! There’s absolutely no excuse when there’s Lyft or taxis. It’s not worth it.

So that’s what I did last night. I met the officer at the police station after he had a shift briefing. My first question was regarding where I would sit,  front or back. I’m so glad it was the front, which is much more pleasant.

The officer wore body armor; I did not.

I had spent quite a few days coordinating an appropriate outfit…seriously, what does one wear to sit in a police car as an observer for a few hours?

This is what I chose: skinny jeans, white long sleeved jersey top, a sweater with vegan suede, studded boots, and a animal print silk scarf. FullSizeRender (3).jpg

Don’t laugh; this kind of thing is very important to me.

I’ll keep the officer’s name private, because I don’t think it’s necessary to share.

He was a great host. A modern day police car is really a fully functional office with computers and license plate readers and GUNS! I’ve never been around a gun, never shot a gun, I’ve never even held a gun. EVER. He had an AR15 and another kind of shotgun or rifle, as well as the gun he wears in a holster, a Sig Sauer–and they are ALL LOADED. LOADED WITH BULLETS. 

We got our first call, a welfare check of a mom and her children. I had to sit in the car because domestic calls can often become volatile, so I sat with the engine running (they leave the motor running all the time by the way) and wondered for a split second what would happen if I drove away. (I found out later that there’s a kill switch just in case that happens.) Another police car showed up and they both went in and returned in about fifteen minutes. There was nothing wrong; an ex-girlfriend of the mother’s boyfriend made a fake call because she was being vindictive. Just babymamadrama, but good to know the children were OK.

We drove back to the beach looking for some action. We got another call about a stolen vehicle and drove to the vicinity but didn’t locate it.

It was such a strange experience to sit in a police car. It was still light out and people were staring at me. I’m sure they couldn’t figure out what I was doing there, so I waved and smiled at everyone. Super cool!

Back on the road, we were called to assist another officer with a non-emergency, when we got re-dispatched to a possible burglary. This time, it was lights and sirens and about 100 mph running red lights and OH EM GEE, it was SO EXCITING!

Again, I had to sit in the car, but I could see what was going on. It wasn’t exactly a burglary, but it was somehow drug related, and the guy had to be handcuffed because he was being slightly combative and not following directions. At this point, five other police cars showed up and I was starting to rethink my decision to try on a more adventurous life. I mean, should I get out and run away? I didn’t want to see too much reality. I can only take tiny bites of real life at any given time.

While I was sitting there, I could hear all the other calls on the radio. There were a few accidents, mostly DUI-related, a group of kids were on the roof of the high school, and the saddest one was a possibly suicidal young adult who was being transported to the hospital on a 5150, a section of the California Welfare and Institutions Code (WIC) which authorizes a qualified officer or clinician to involuntarily confine a person suspected to have a mental disorder that makes them a danger to themselves, a danger to others, and/or gravely disabled.

It was getting late. I was tired, and REALLY needed a glass of wine, that’s for sure.

My officer/host was a twenty-five year veteran and had kind and patient answers to all of my  questions about crime in the area and high profile cases he’s been involved in.

My takeaway from this experience is that our community is relatively safe; there are stolen cars and home burglaries,  an occasional murder and sexual assault, but the overwhelming realtime danger is the POTENTIAL threat of a terrorist attack. That seems to be the main focus of law enforcement training. “Active shooter” scenarios, “dirty bombs” in crowded locations–these are things that this naive and very sheltered girl never really thought about.

Do I feel like it was a valuable experience? Absolutely. I would encourage everyone to contact their local law enforcement and invite themselves along to see how we are all kept safe by these hardworking and dedicated men and women, including the dispatch team.

And really, don’t drink and drive. Or text and drive. PLEASE.

 

 

 

 

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Light Energy

Up to this point in my life, I didn’t understand anything about energy of any sort, whether it was the kind of electrical energy that is generated when you plug in a lamp or a hair dryer, or the kind of energy that surrounds us and makes up our universe.

I guess I was absent from school that day, haha.

The speed of light is about 300,000 km/s. To put that in perspective, when you watch the sun set, it has actually been 10 minutes since that light left the Sun.

Is that cool, or what?

I learned this recently. I know you probably ALL know this, but I did not. Light energy is defined as how nature moves energy at an extremely rapid rate, and it makes up about 99% of the body’s atoms and cells, and signal all body parts to carry out their respective tasks. An example of light energy is the movement of a radio signal.energy therapy encourages the body to draw upon its natural healing ability by opening up the flow of energy, clearing emotional blockages and detoxifying itself.

We human beings are an open system of energy that live in an energy environment which is constantly shifting and moving. A healthy body thrives in this environment with a clean continuous flow of balanced energy.Our human energy field sets the foundation for the physical body. If the energy field goes wrong, this will eventually affect the physical body.

Disease and ill-heath manifest themselves first in our energy field before showing up on our physical bodies.

When there is a conflict with the environment around us (for example the unhealthy food we eat, common daily stress from work or relationships, the quality of the polluted air and water we breathe), a healthy energy system is able to release this excessive energy immediately because our natural flow of energy always moves towards generating perfect health and well-being.(curated from  http://www.healing-for-wellbeing.com/Definition.html)

Clueless, that’s me!

I certainly never knew that light energy can heal.

I never heard of chakras, either. No REALLY. I never did. Guess I lived under a rock for a very long time, you know?

The word “Chakra” is the Sanskrit word for “Wheel” or “Disk” (because chakras spin like a wheel or a disk or a vortex) and refers to the energy centers in the body.

When faced with difficulties in our life, we tend to hold this unresolved energy in our bodies instead of releasing it.

This creates blockages in our energy field which then depletes our vitality and can lead to ill health and suffering. It might explain why a person who suffers from stress might feel like his/her head is on the verge of exploding: their head is like a balloon being inflated with an energy flow whose exit path has been blocked!

Blockages and imbalances in the energy body often manifest themselves as physical ailments, stress, sleep disorders, depression, and other emotional imbalances.

Energy therapy encourages the body to draw upon its natural healing ability by opening up the flow of energy, clearing emotional blockages and detoxifying itself.

This is fascinating, don’t you agree?

chakras

 

Not in any order, but I thought I’d start with the very important Heart Chakra, also called Anahata.

Shall we all clear our heart chakra together?


About the Heart Chakra:

The Anahata (heart) chakra, represents unconditional love, forgiveness, and compassion. The heart chakra influences your right to love and be loved, in other words, your ability to connect with oneself and other people.

This chakra promotes balance and integration as it is the middle of the seven with, three lower chakras (root, sacral, solar plexus) and three upper chakras (throat, third eye, crown). A healthy heart chakra is demonstrated by maintaining healthy boundaries.

Anahata chakra helps us to see the world through the eyes of our heart. We see through a prism of love and aren’t afraid to express our emotions.

Tomorrow when you wake in the morning, fall in love with yourself all over again say to yourself: “Today help me to keep love and peace in my heart. And to make that love a way of life, that I may live in love the rest of my life.”

Name:  Anahata is Sanskrit name of heart Chakra, “unstruck” or “that which cannot be destroyed”

Location: at the heart (center of the chest)/ base of sternum

Intention:  Adoration

Your Rights: Your Right to Love and Be Loved

Self-work: Self-love

Identity: Social Identity

Mantra: I am love

Color: Green

Element: Air

Sense: Touch

Healing Stones: Emerald, tourmaline, aventurine, malachite, rose quartz, rhodonite,

Bija Seed Sound: Yam

Vowel Sound: Ay (as in play)

Psychology:

Basic Issues: Love, devotion, ability to connect with others, openness, compassion, balance, self-acceptance, self-confidence, to be in good relationship, place where dharma resides, forgiveness

Characteristics When Out of Balance: Grief, emotional outbursts, insecurity, nervousness, anxiety, anger, impatience, fanaticism, overly critical, withdrawn, inability to have deep relationships, inability to express emotion, codependency, poor boundaries, possessiveness, Jealousy, addictions to tobacco, sugar, marijuana

Excessive: Codependency, demanding, clinging, jealousy, overly sacrificing

Deficient: Antisocial, withdrawn, cold, judgemental, loneliness, isolation, depression, fear of intimacy, lack of empathy, narcissism

Healing: Breathing exercises, journaling, psychotherapy

Fourth Chakra Mantras:

  •  I am loving of myself and others.
  • There is an infinite supply of love.
  • I live in balance with others.
  • May I be at home in my heart.
  • May I be free to feel my true feelings, desires, passions
.
  • I am worthy of love.

featured image courtesy of http://www.empowerus.biz/energy-healing

March Full Worm Moon

Don’t forget to spring forward tonight!
I know that the weather is horrible in certain parts of the country, but I’m sorry/not sorry to report that here in SoCal, it’s like SUMMER! Windows are open, the sky is blue, and birds are singing.
The final full moon of winter 2017 will reach its crest at 10:54 a.m. EST tomorrow, March 12. This lunar event arrives a week before the spring equinox and represents nature’s inevitable rebirth after the dark winter months.
The Native American name for this full moon, the Worm Moon, alludes to the earthworms that emerge from the softening ground at this time of year.
Many sects of Paganism refer to this moon as the Storm Moon, which may have contributed to the old wives’ tale that March “comes in like a lion and out like a lamb.”
What comes in for me tonight is my son, DIL, and THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, Theo, AKA Angel Boy 2.0
I had no idea that I was going to fall head over heels in love with this jumbled up mass of DNA and genetic codes. The old me used to smirk at my friends who couldn’t stop extolling the virtues of their grandchildren–UNTIL IT HAPPENED TO ME.
Now I’m the pack leader with my Iphone, shoving it in everyone’s face to oooh and ahhh at the latest accomplishment of 2.0, his newest tooth, his gummy smile, his attempt to stand and walk…
Theo FEBHowever, my son (the original Angel Boy) and DIL won’t let me post pictures of Theo on my blog or social media so you’ll just have to take my word for it. But you can see by this pic that the curly apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree haha!
With this special moon, it’s a wonderful opportunity to manifest positive intentions for the future. I’m working on joy and happiness, abundance, and gratitude for myself, my family, and the world.
What are YOU manifesting?
(Once again, WP is screwing up the format, not allowing me to break between paragraphs–I’ve attempted to redo this five times and now I’m done. It is what it is!! The draft looks entirely different than the final published result. )

There’s Nothing Like Pink Ballet Shoes

To a certain type of little girl, there’s nothing like pink ballet shoes.

I mean NOTHING. Nada.

Before I was Princess Rosebud AND before I was Rowdy Rosie, I was simply Rosebud.

I was ballet-obsessed.

A little ballerina in pink tights, leotard, and ballet shoes, and once in a blue moon at a recital, I was lucky enough to be chosen to wear a pink tutu. HEAVEN.

Yes, I was a bunhead. And proud of it!

There was the special red letter day all ballet dancers wait for; the day we’re told our feet and legs are strong enough for POINTE WORK –and that means TOE SHOES.

To dance en pointe is the epitome of a dream come true.

You never forget the day your mom takes you to Capezio to be fitted for those first toe shoes. Smelling and stroking them all the way home, hand sewing the satin ribbons in the perfect position, tying and retying them, clumping around the house on hard flat soles that feel like wood, hours spent staring at your reflection in the mirror. I AM A BALLERINA; ignoring the promise made to Madame NOT to try to stand en pointe without her specific instructions.

SIGH

Innocence and hope and aspiration all wrapped up in pink satin.

These are my old shoes, the toe box full of lambs wool. I’m walking around in them right now…and my feet are killing me, lol.

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I definitely can’t execute twelve fouette turns in a row like the good old days. Never mind trying SIXTY-FOUR!!!

 

Down in the village. there’s the cutest little ballet store, and I couldn’t resist a new pair of soft shoes for barre work-and an adorable shirt–pink, of course!

And I know what you’re thinking and NOPE, I’m never going to grow up, don’t even ASK!

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The Science of Gratitude

Counting your blessings and creating a list of things to be thankful for has a real foundation in science and might even change the way our brains work, according to a brain-scanning study in NeuroImage.

It brings us a little closer to understanding why these exercises have these effects. The results suggest that even months after a simple, short gratitude writing task, people’s brains are still wired to feel extra thankful. The implication is that gratitude tasks work, at least in part, because they have a self-perpetuating nature: The more you practice gratitude, the more attuned you are to it and the more you can enjoy its psychological benefits.

Feeling grateful is very good for you.

Time and again, studies have shown that performing simple gratitude exercises, like keeping a gratitude diary or writing letters of thanks, can bring a range of benefits, such as feelings of increased well-being and reduced depression, that often lingers well after the exercises are finished.

Changing our neural pathways of any old tapes we run of self loathing and lack of self worth and depression with replacement thoughts of being valuable, of deserving love and respect aren’t new ideas but they’re new to ME. Louise Hay is a well-known proponent of positive self talk and affirmations.

Recently, I started sporadically attending  free Friday mediation classes at the Deepak Chopra Center in La Costa because I thought I needed a little jump start to get to the next level of peace, harmony, joy, and NAMASTE.

After one of the sessions, I purchased Deepak’s little book, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success. I just found a pdf of it here, if you are interested in reading it, too. It’s an easy read with valuable insights and suggestions.

I like knowing that I’m headed on a path toward increased compassion and gratitude, hoping to make the world just a little bit kinder by being more kind and grateful.

The Project of Happiness outlines seven steps toward the goal of a  joyful and fulfilled life.

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I’m grateful to all of you who read and follow my blog.

What are YOU grateful for today?

*Thanks to http://bulgariastories.com/2015/11/2612/ for JFK image

Just Sunday, that’s all…

I spent the entire day with one of my oldest friends. We had lost touch for many years but picked up the thread as if it were only hours between chats, and not the chasm of time that separated us.

It was my fault. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me. I apologized and she forgave me.

So simple. True. Honest. Authentic.

Here are three of my favorite things to celebrate and be grateful for on this kind of overcast and cloudy Sunday.

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inner-child

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Death. SO VERY BIG

Before I was Princess Rosebud and Rowdy Rosie, I was a little girl who loved to dance in pink tutus and satin toe shoes.

A sweet and innocent little girl who was very gentle and sorta clueless about life.

Who loved animals (especially wolves and coyotes and foxes and mountain lions and bobcats) but all animals really.

Who never had to face life’s seriously sucky tribulations, cos life was pretty good most of the time.

Especially when there were seashells to pick off a sandy beach. Or someone thought about me and brought home a handful of seashells from one of their vacations.

Seashells make me happy. Butterflies make me happy, too, but that’s a different story.

This is about death. DEATH. Not a metamorphosis.

D.E.A.T.H.

Death is pretty final in a lot of ways. I mean in this plane, on this Earth, when someone dies, stops breathing, heart stops beating…well, that’s pretty final.

Why do some deaths hit us harder than others?

Randomly searching for something on the internet, I discovered that a friend and business associate I hadn’t seen in a long time had died of cancer a few months ago.

I didn’t know. No one told me. How did this happen, that I didn’t know?

The death and the not knowing shocked me, rocked me to my core. I was sobbing. Not him, I thought. Not him. Good men like that should live to be one-hundred-years at least.

(I could tell you how it happened that I didn’t know, I could elucidate, fill you in on all the deets, but then the story would be all about me and not a way, however small, to honor this fine, fine man.)

I heard him say this one thing a thousand times, “Hey guys, here’s just another rusty brain idea I’d like to run by you.”

He was one of those true-blue, honorable, faithful, simply noble, ethical, principled, reliable, honest, trustworthy, dependable, SALT OF THE EARTH men.

They don’t make them like that any more. Trust me on that. It’s really so simple, when you think about it. Not a difficult way to live one’s life if you know what’s really important.

All men (and women) should aspire to conduct their lives to that standard. A decent man with character and a deep commitment to his wife and family.

A never-give-up kind of man. The very definition of what a man should be.

If you needed anything, Steve was there. Especially if there was food involved. Oh yes, Steve loved to eat, that’s for sure.

I sent his wife a letter expressing my sorrow for her loss and apologized for not knowing and not attending his memorial service.

She wrote back almost immediately.

True to form, he never told anyone of his battle with cancer. Thinking back, I remember he was always showing up with bandages all over his face and head from skin cancer surgeries, but he brushed aside all questions about his health. The cancer spread and though it was quite painful, he never complained.

One day he collapsed and died in his wife’s arms, the only place that was ever really home to him.

I honor you, Steve, and I will miss you forever. More than you could know. This is a big loss, a big death, and my heart goes out to your lovely family.

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Welcome To The Jungle

Before I was Princess Rosebud, I was Rowdy Rosie, did you know that? Something must have happened over the years to morph RR into PR, but she’s BACK!  (You can read a previous post about RR here: https://enchantedseashells.com/2013/07/02/the-story-of-rowdy-rosie/)

All you need is a little patience, right? Well, to paraphrase my rock and roll crush, Axl Rose, I guess I needed twenty-plus years of patience, ‘cos that’s how long it took between Guns N’ Roses concerts. At least for me.

When my good friend from Cowboys and Crossbones told me their Not In This Lifetime tour was one of the best concerts she’d ever attended, my ears perked up. When I discovered GnR would end their US tour in San Diego, I knew I’d have to something about it.

I dusted off an old Rowdy Rosie sheer lace spandex camisole I’d kept safe (just in case) since the nineties nestled in tissue paper and wore it over a black and white polka dotted push up bra, squirmed into skinny jeans so tight there wasn’t an ounce of space to breathe, added studded moto boots, and the look was complete. gunsandrosesfashion

Not too bad for a grandma, am I right? (DO NOT ANSWER THAT RHETORICAL QUESTION!!)

After a slight mishap at the trolley station where I accidentally fell onto the tracks. No adult beverages nor any mind altering substances could be blamed…the sun was in my eyes and it was SUPER crowded-sometimes the truth is BORING, but the truth is what you get in Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife…

The opening act was the Cult, do you remember them? They did a great job of holding our attention until Axl hit the stage.

OK, here’s where more truth comes in.

We are all aware of the inexorable march of time; it can’t be stopped, we all get older, look older, feel older–none of us really has a picture in the attic (literary reference to Picture of Dorian Gray)-even Botox and a skilled surgeon can only for a brief moment hold back the tick-tock of aging.

So…when that sweet bad boy child of mine, the now fifty-four-year-old Axl Rose first appeared, I do believe there was a collective GASP from the crowd, or maybe it was just me? I mean, I know it’s been 20+ years, but I really expected him to still look like…

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Then

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Now

Side by side comparison…Where did he go?

And it didn’t matter at all. Once he started to sing, I was transported back to that special place where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky (lyrics to “Sweet Child of Mine”)

He’s still bad boy sexy though, and if I squinted, he kinda sorta-well no, actually not at all.

He’s aged, I’ve aged, we’ve all aged. He’s had some work done, not exactly a total Mickey Rourke, but a bit, and he’s brave to step on stage knowing how the world sees him in reality versus in dreams (oops, my bad, hee hee.)

I screamed like a teenager.

I danced like no one was watching (no one was) and had the BEST TIME OF MY LIFE.concertME

The biggest difference in the two concerts from then and now -except for the cost of the ticket lol-was the ubiquitous presence of cell phones capturing every single moment. I’m guilty of that too.

When the first chords of “Welcome to the Jungle” started up, there was nowhere in the world I would have rather been than experiencing that iconic moment.

They played nonstop for more than 2 1/2 hours and ended with “Paradise City”.

As we ran to grab the trolley back to our vehicle, we saw Slash drive away in his black limo SUV and he waved to us.

BEST NIGHT EVER.

And now I’ll have a forever scar to remember it by…dropmic