"I have seven active blogs," I told her.
"Why?" She asked.
I thought about my answer for a couple seconds, and said, "I've been a writer most of my adult life, and I love to write. There's so much to write, slightly different voices, same life." There wasn't much discourse from that point between us, though the question was asked by others in different ways. Madeline L'Engle wrote, 'But I cannot write just when I feel like it, or I will have nothing to write with. Like the violin, I must be tuned and practiced on constantly."
A couple people asked what happened to our 'old' blog, and I said the story had been told for three years, and it was time to stop telling that story.
"Do you think others have followed in your footsteps?" One friend asked.
"I'm not sure about that, though at least one couple is building a tiny home, and is in touch with us."
The friend said she had been to our our blog a lot. I said she would be welcomed to see the archived posts; we could invite her to read them if she asked.
Pete and I were gathered with a group of people who live with different manifestations of an illness diagnosed as Multiple Chemical Sensitivities. We met these folks three years ago when my physical symptoms were the most difficult to understand, and support for this unravelling came from this group. We garnered ideas, listened to the stories each shared and enjoyed the company of fragrance-free companions. We so appreciate the experiences we heard back then. We have often been, and continue to live a distance away from this Seattle-based group. Our trek from South Whidbey is made with consciousness and preparedness. The pollens are in sky-high infusion in mid-May, so my decision to travel is done with Plan Be, once again.
In one afternoon gathering the voices of experiences are multiple, and each voice and story fueled by a personal decision based on wanting to 'feel good.' The varied choices and the progress toward good as diverse as is the dozen or so folk who came to the park that spring afternoon. As Pete and I headed home, we recounted our adventure. Though it was rush-hour our path along the alternative highway north was easier, fewer banks of the pollen that is most difficult for me made the journey a most down-stream experience. We had napped earlier, sunning ourselves in the car as we waited for our friends to arrive. So we had refreshed enough ... pacing ourselves to allow the good into our flow. We could not share the driving because I needed to use the oxygen from time-to-time, I need to remember to thank Pete and appreciate him more often.
When we got home, we both were glad we adventured, but even more glad to be home. What a nice feeling to know 'glad to be home.' Back in the Quonset I stowed away the food and supplies we'd purchased from the city. JOTS was still out and away in the woods. Pete was off tending to the ducks and chickens. When I peeked out the door, I saw him sitting at the nearly built wooden table now so comfortably a part of the orchard. He and Eileen were chatting. I turned on the c.d. player, checked to see that the sounds I wanted to hear were there, shut the lid on the player, pressed the PLAY arrow button and listened to the other part of my PLAN BE. I am newly training myself to turn down-stream for my good news and good feelings.
My choosing gets better with practice. I listened to my c.d. and turned to the sink, and the bottles that needed to be refilled with filtered water. I knew this choice to drive into Seattle was done on an 'Ole Moon when rest was the best choice. I took a risk, and now I feel the price for extending beyond my reserves. Before the tape was finished Pete came back, we traded places in front of the laptop.
"Would you keep an eye on the bottle? I need to go into the vardo for a lie-down."
"Sure," Pete said.
"I can turn that tape off," I said before leaving the Quonset.
"No, that's okay, I'll listen."
I walked across the gravel path to the vardo steps, opened up the vardo saying a silent hello of appreciation, changed into my robe, straightened up the covers a bit and climbed in. Rested from one more adventure in this life,I noted the different choices made by others on their path. I recognized the contrasting examples as research for my bettering-life.Those 'Ole Moons of the Hawaiian Moon Calendar are there for good reason, and when I push my will again the wobble of those resting moons, there are consequences. My Plan BE, reminds me that I choose to tell a different story and keep deciding consciously. It takes practice. My new story is newly sprouted, cultivating a soul takes care. I'll remember that, and it's my own dear soul over which I can care...mine alone. Does it take 7 blogs to tell my story? A choir is multiple voices, I like the sound of that. Here's a video of virtual voices ... a 6 minute 'different musical story'... ready?
"Why?" She asked.
I thought about my answer for a couple seconds, and said, "I've been a writer most of my adult life, and I love to write. There's so much to write, slightly different voices, same life." There wasn't much discourse from that point between us, though the question was asked by others in different ways. Madeline L'Engle wrote, 'But I cannot write just when I feel like it, or I will have nothing to write with. Like the violin, I must be tuned and practiced on constantly."
A couple people asked what happened to our 'old' blog, and I said the story had been told for three years, and it was time to stop telling that story.
"Do you think others have followed in your footsteps?" One friend asked.
"I'm not sure about that, though at least one couple is building a tiny home, and is in touch with us."
The friend said she had been to our our blog a lot. I said she would be welcomed to see the archived posts; we could invite her to read them if she asked.
Pete and I were gathered with a group of people who live with different manifestations of an illness diagnosed as Multiple Chemical Sensitivities. We met these folks three years ago when my physical symptoms were the most difficult to understand, and support for this unravelling came from this group. We garnered ideas, listened to the stories each shared and enjoyed the company of fragrance-free companions. We so appreciate the experiences we heard back then. We have often been, and continue to live a distance away from this Seattle-based group. Our trek from South Whidbey is made with consciousness and preparedness. The pollens are in sky-high infusion in mid-May, so my decision to travel is done with Plan Be, once again.
- BElieve I can do it. My desire for the company of these folks is strong. We haven't seen these friends for nine months.
- BE positive. Knowing what I see as a good-thing and a step toward good-feeling (joyful company, catching up, sharing), I focus on the good and step away from resistence and feelings that distract.
- BE prepared. We travel with an oxygen tank, face mask, homeopathic remedies, glass jug of filtered water, and know to keep talking to each other as we pace our way from the woods to the city. We plan the two hours journey into the city with ease and fun built-in: ice cream cone for me, a good and healthy lunch even before the late afternoon potluck.
In one afternoon gathering the voices of experiences are multiple, and each voice and story fueled by a personal decision based on wanting to 'feel good.' The varied choices and the progress toward good as diverse as is the dozen or so folk who came to the park that spring afternoon. As Pete and I headed home, we recounted our adventure. Though it was rush-hour our path along the alternative highway north was easier, fewer banks of the pollen that is most difficult for me made the journey a most down-stream experience. We had napped earlier, sunning ourselves in the car as we waited for our friends to arrive. So we had refreshed enough ... pacing ourselves to allow the good into our flow. We could not share the driving because I needed to use the oxygen from time-to-time, I need to remember to thank Pete and appreciate him more often.
When we got home, we both were glad we adventured, but even more glad to be home. What a nice feeling to know 'glad to be home.' Back in the Quonset I stowed away the food and supplies we'd purchased from the city. JOTS was still out and away in the woods. Pete was off tending to the ducks and chickens. When I peeked out the door, I saw him sitting at the nearly built wooden table now so comfortably a part of the orchard. He and Eileen were chatting. I turned on the c.d. player, checked to see that the sounds I wanted to hear were there, shut the lid on the player, pressed the PLAY arrow button and listened to the other part of my PLAN BE. I am newly training myself to turn down-stream for my good news and good feelings.
"Be easy about this. Be playful about it. Don't work so hard at it. Let your dominant intent to be to feel good, and if you don't feel good, then let your dominant intent be to feel relief. Feel your way through it. If you think your way through it, you can get off on all kinds of tangents. If you feel your way through it, you can come quickly to your Core Energy, and when you do that only good can then flow to you."
--- Abraham
Excerpted from the workshop in Rye, NY on Sunday, October 12th, 1997
My choosing gets better with practice. I listened to my c.d. and turned to the sink, and the bottles that needed to be refilled with filtered water. I knew this choice to drive into Seattle was done on an 'Ole Moon when rest was the best choice. I took a risk, and now I feel the price for extending beyond my reserves. Before the tape was finished Pete came back, we traded places in front of the laptop.
"Would you keep an eye on the bottle? I need to go into the vardo for a lie-down."
"Sure," Pete said.
"I can turn that tape off," I said before leaving the Quonset.
"No, that's okay, I'll listen."
I walked across the gravel path to the vardo steps, opened up the vardo saying a silent hello of appreciation, changed into my robe, straightened up the covers a bit and climbed in. Rested from one more adventure in this life,I noted the different choices made by others on their path. I recognized the contrasting examples as research for my bettering-life.Those 'Ole Moons of the Hawaiian Moon Calendar are there for good reason, and when I push my will again the wobble of those resting moons, there are consequences. My Plan BE, reminds me that I choose to tell a different story and keep deciding consciously. It takes practice. My new story is newly sprouted, cultivating a soul takes care. I'll remember that, and it's my own dear soul over which I can care...mine alone. Does it take 7 blogs to tell my story? A choir is multiple voices, I like the sound of that. Here's a video of virtual voices ... a 6 minute 'different musical story'... ready?
