Baby Steps - Dreams

I've decided I have multiple personalities:

I'm living my life like a 20 year old starting out for the first time.
I never quite got myself organized enough when I was in my twenties but
I've learned a lot over those two decades. So I've decided on a do
over.

Financially, I'm a 20 year old that had the kind of parents that gave
strong, sound advice on what to do as in save the maximum amount
allowed into RRSP's (Registered Retirement Savings Plans for my
American readers), save up for your purchases, donate 10% to charity.
For those of you who don't do this, it really does make a difference in
your peace of mind. When you can give, you open yourself to receive.
When you save, you know you're taken care of. When you save up for your
purchases, you appreciate what you have.

In love, I may still be a teenager - the teenage virgin who isn't ready
to go all the way. The teenage virgin who wants to take her time, who
wants a boyfriend that understands that she's a virgin so he won't rush
her. She wants the kind of boyfriend who will wait 8 months if he has
to without mentioning it, asking for it, pushing for it. A boyfriend
who by his silence lets her know that it has to be her decision when it
happens. She has to be the one to say, to announce, "I'm ready."

It's about giving her "precious" self to the right boyfriend not to any
boyfriend. That's the concept of having a do over. Clearly I'm not a
teenage virgin nor do I sleep around but I am picking and choosing what
it is that works for me. Instead of beating myself up for not achieving
the milestones that "normal" people my age have reached.
In love, it's waiting before I give over my preciousness ( my heart, my
self, my body) to someone.

A man with patience is sexier than one who coerces, or makes you feel
obligated or makes you feel guilty. Sexiness is in the patience,
knowing that it doesn't come easy and that the wanting is more than
just sexual. It's just so much better after the anticipation, I think.

In my writing, I'm going back to beginner's mind. I'm going back to
where everything about your new interest is fascinating and you look in
all areas to learn, reading voraciously, making people that you meet
characters, looking for the story in every incident.

When you see people as potential characters you find them fascinating,
you want to know what makes them tick, what's their back-story. How did
they become who they are now, what drives them? With beginner's mind,
every aspect of life becomes interesting because every aspect of life
pushes you to investigate more out of curiosity and relates back to the
writing.

I have the imagination of a child with unreasonable dreams. I am able
to imagine being a Billionaire writer if I want to. A child's dreams
are unreasonable only to adults because the child is far removed from
the realization of that dream but with baby steps all things are
possible. With a child's imagination we are taken out further than what
seems possible right now but that's how dreams begin right? The
unreasonableness of belief is based on your current reality and makes
it impossible for anyone to ever see that it can become what you want
it to become. That's why people, adults, friends tell you, "Don't dream
so big. Why don't you try a lesser goal? Why don't you become a nurse
instead they need nurses more than writers. Are you sure you can deal
with the rejection? Are you sure you can handle that?"

With baby steps, persistence, an unwavering belief and a multiple
personality, all things are possible.

EY

Living an Inspired Life
Writing2Live

Wishes

"If you want to be inspired, you must be willing to offer inspiration." Wayne Dyer, pg 176. Inspiration. Your Ultimate Calling.

2July06 Sunday 1:05pm

It's funny how when I think of something in a off-handed way I often get a wish fulfillment.

Two little wishes were fulfilled yesterday. I live in the type of apartment building that is all about giving and receiving. If you don't want something any more you leave it on one of the window sills in the building and someone who wants it will take it. From that system, I've picked up a couple of shelving units, a matching desk and table set, a big arts drawer even some CD's and books. I've left boots, roller blades, carpet, clothing and other odds and sods that I never use anymore.

Recently when I got a chair that someone discarded. I cleaned and painted it, I thought off handedly, "now all I need is a small table that I can work on when I'm in this lovely chair." I was thinking of a TV table but something a little funkier. It turns out that yesterday someone discarded just that. I can adjust the sides and make the table longer and the table is on wheels. It fits perfectly with my lovely chair.

"What I desire which is aligned with Spirit is already on it's way." -- Wayne Dyer

As I roller bladed yesterday, I debated on whether I'd skate all the way to the beaches because this one part of the trek has a bridge that has padding on it that you can't really skate on. At the bottom of the hill, after the bridge, are train tracks. You've got to be prepared to slow down really quick otherwise you'll wipe out. I've never wiped out mind you but I'm always so nerve wracked that it wasn't something I was in the mood for.

I decided I'd follow another bike path and see where it led me until I got bored. It turns out I could go along the Lakeshore instead of taking that scary bridge with the treacherous train tracks. I was stoked.

I rode out to Woodbine Park and watched these dogs jumping into the man-made pond swimming after the ball that the owners kept throwing in. They were a bunch of joyful children. I swear if the dogs could laugh out loud they would. One of the dogs I watched stuck his head in the water and seemed to stay down for at least a minute with his butt and tail sticking up.

He was diving for a rock and sliding it with his feet until he brought it back to shore. He'd look up at the people waiting for someone to throw it back in and he'd start all over again.

It was a wonderfully inspiring time. It takes so little to find things to make us laugh, make us feel inspired, if we choose to look for them. In my indecisiveness at the bridge yesterday, I got in the way of a few cyclists. One guy grumbled and swore at me. I was amused. "Buddy, relax, we're all out here to enjoy ourselves. Leave the rage behind."

How many times do we get set off when we're supposedly out to enjoy ourselves? That's part of what I have to let go of. The EY Page - Living an Inspired Life: What Am I Not Letting Go Of?

I've been noticing that more strangers are smiling at me on the street. People are saying Hi. I'm feeling like I live in a friendlier world despite what the news reports tell me. My focus is changing. Because I want to be happy I gravitate towards what makes me happy. I choose to enjoy every wish fulfillment and every magical coincidence. Lord knows next week something will set me off and have me bitching. But my focus is changing. When things rile me up I find that I can get out of it quicker than ever.

"Change the way you look at things and the things you look at change." Wayne Dyer. The Power of Intention.

When I suffered from depression I wanted to spend all my time alone. I had no motivation to be around others. I had no motivation to do anything. It's funny because the changes, my changes, have been subtle. I still want to spend a large portion of my time alone but now it's about well-being and balance. I only like being around others when I've had ample time to myself. I choose the people I share my time with. I choose what I want to focus my thoughts on. I choose to believe that whatever I wish for I can have. Why the heck not?

EY

Welcome to the new House

27June06 Tuesday 5:37pm

I decided to move my blog over to blogspot.com since my subscription
service doesn't work with my angelfire.com URL.

I will also cut and paste my early entries from my previous blog here.
The entries that pertain to Living an Inspired Life or that brought me
to the decision to make my blog writings about that...

EY

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What Am I Not Letting Go Of?

Thursday 9pm 22June06

I had my first massage swap this week with my friend L. She does
Swedish massage and I do Reiki.

My neck, shoulders and back were filled with stubborn knots. One of L's
first questions was, "When was the last time you had a massage?"

Yeah, healer heal thyself...

As I lay on my stomach and felt her attempts to work through the knots
I kept thinking that they felt like they wouldn't let go. They were
holding their stubborn ground.
Subsequently the question flashed through my mind, What am I not
letting go of? Where in my life am I not letting go? What misguided
beliefs am I not letting go of?

There's something about pain in my body that makes me ask questions
related to that pain.

When I was ten years old I developed stomach problems. I was constantly
sick to my stomach. I went through weeks when I couldn't keep my food
down. The worst of it went on for six years.

My mother took me to the doctor during times when my stomach problems
got progressively worse. I went through all the tests and X-rays,
gagged down the chalk drink that never tasted like a strawberry shake
the nurse said it would taste like. A couple times a year I suffered
through those tests hopeful that the doctor would find a problem, any
problem. Each time after the results were studied I was told that this
real pain was all in my head.

My doctor finally sent me to a child psychologist when I was fourteen
and after a couple visits I couldn't see how this guy (who couldn't
understand why I didn't like getting my period) was going to help me.
Come on, what woman likes getting her period?

My mother threatened to physically hurt my doctor if she didn't figure
out was wrong with me. "She's fifteen for fuck's sake, she's been
suffering with this shit for 5 years you can't tell me that's all in
her head."

My doctor finally saw the light and sent me to a stomach specialist. I
liked him almost immediately. He talked a lot almost like an Anthony
Robbins, expressive and energetic. He told me that he didn't believe
that my stomach problems were all in my head, that he was going to re
do all the tests of the previous years just to make sure nothing could
be found. He questioned me about my weight and self concept to rule out
any eating disorders. Did I think I was fat or over weight? No, I knew
I was physically fit.

He did other tests - an exploratory (a camera in a tube down my
throat); an ultrasound and the like. He still found nothing.

After he told me that he believed I had a nervous stomach and
prescribed me children's Valium he told me a story:
He said, "you are like a fellow student that I went to med school with.
He had to vomit everyday during exams. In fact, he still vomits before
he goes into surgery. Whenever you are upset about something you get
sick. You'll probably be like that for the rest of your life and die
young."

I tried to imagine an eternity of suffering from an upset stomach and
digestive weakness. The image was bleak.

"I don't want to die young," I said.
He banged his hand forcefully on his desk, "You're going to have to
speak up for yourself. If you're mad, say you're mad. Tell the people
your upset with what you are feeling."

Whenever I repeat this story people are shocked by his harshness. No
doctor today could get away with telling a 16 year old girl that she is
going to die young. It woke me up. Sometimes we need the Mack truck to
get our attention. The thought of dying young, what did young mean? Did
it mean I would die at 30 or worse at 20? I was going to die because
people were upsetting me to the point of making me sick? That was
crazy! I wouldn't stand for that.

I like to call that awakening the year that I grew a mouth. My mother
and step father were shocked the first time I spoke up. They weren't
prepared for it. My doctor always insisted that I attend my
appointments without a parent. They had no inkling of what my doctor
said to me because I didn't tell them.

My mother became silently impressed. My step father went from stunned
to angry to scared (by the time I hit eighteen) when it dawned on him
that he could no longer verbally beat me down and I wouldn’t walk
away from a verbal wrestling match. In fact, I’d begun to enjoy
it. My mouth was so quick and I could mix cruel words together and
still not swear. What a liberating feeling to speak up for yourself
after years of silence. it only took me 6 years to get there.

My favorite part of the Color Purple is when Celie finally speaks up to
Mister and he backs down because he's actually scared of her. I lived
that moment. I was Celie.

I stayed on the children's Valium until I moved out on my own and kept
forgetting to take them. I realized that I didn't need them anymore.

In 1991, I got two strange lumps in my neck and my scalp got itchy to
the point where it felt like bugs were crawling all over me. The first
Saturday, I went to emergency and the doctor said it looked like the
German Measles but he wasn't sure. He gave me meds and told me to buy a
special shampoo. During the week, I developed three different rashes
all over my body including the palms of my hands and the bottoms of my
feet. I went back to emergency the following Saturday and although the
doctor was fascinated, he had no clue what was going on with me. He
prescribed oatmeal baths and upped my medication. I would find out in
emergency the following week that it was enough to dope a horse.

On the third Saturday, I woke up and felt like I had obstructions in my
eyes. I couldn't open them all the way. I stayed in bed scared to get
up, knowing full well that this wasn't good. When the courage hit me, I
got up and packed an overnight bag with stuff to do. I knew I was going
to the hospital to stay. I finally walked into the bathroom to check
myself out in the mirror. My face was so swollen that if I didn't know
I walked there I wouldn't know it was me. I had slits for eyes. I
looked like the elephant man.

In the dermatology ward my team of doctors buzzed with fascination over
my plight and said stuff like, "I'm going to give you Lydex for your
face. It's not something I would ever suggest but I figure at this
point, it can't hurt.
Great! That's reassuring.

In the two weeks that I remained in the hospital my team never knew
what I had. They experimented with treatments and my rashes went away.
A work acquaintance recommended that I see a Naturopath and I gave
David Bray a try.

David told me that I had too much heat in my system. Basically my blood
was boiling and presenting rashes all over my body. When I asked what
caused this, he said it was cumulative stress. He asked me two
questions:
"What's making your blood boil? Who is getting under your skin?"

Those questions clicked with me like my stomach specialist telling me,
if you don't want to die young you'll need to express yourself. David's
questions made me crystallize what ailments mean and get at the source.

One year when I was getting frustrated with listening to those kind of
people who bludgeon you with their opinions, I kept getting these
wicked colds and my ears were filled with liquid to the point where I
couldn't hear.
What didn't I want to hear?

We're in our bodies for our journey. When I refuse to pay attention or
try to avoid what's happening in my life that Mack truck comes
barreling at me. This week the truck tapped me and I'll have to keep
asking until I discover the answer, what am I not letting go of?

EY
Inspiration from my body.

Happy Birthday Charles Alexander Domingue... wherever you are!

I Love Food

Sunday 11June06 12:07pm

I love food. I have a passion for eating. I used to work with a woman
at the Science Centre who used to say she could take food or leave it.
"I eat because I need to eat to survive," she said.

Are you kidding me? To survive?

I love working with people who love to eat. I love people who bring
tasty goodies to share. I love people who tell you about great foods
they've tried or better yet, great concoctions they've come up with.

I'm known for carrying a bag full of food to work to ensure my day long
graze fest. In fact, at the Science Centre, one of my work mates
nicknamed me the chuck wagon because I carried so much food.

I love cultures that love to eat. I love the Italians for their
homemade pastas and for giving me ideas to experiment with my spaghetti
sauce ( I put ground beef, Italian sausage, and pepperoni in mine.) I
love West Indians for jerk chicken or pork, curried goat and roti. I
love them for all the other foods that I never tried growing up despite
having a West Indian Grandfather. I love the Dutch for their meal of
mashed potatoes mixed with sauerkraut and served with with steamed
sausages. My step dad usually used polish sausages. I also love that
they embraced Indonesian food. I could eat Nasi Goreng every single
day. I love the Chinese for Dim Sum.

When I started following Harvey and Marilyn Diamond's Fit For Life, I
was turned on to salads (something I never liked) and juicing. With my
Magic Bullet I've been able to make smoothies using frozen fruit in the
winter.

I'm a firm believer that you need to be well fed before you can do
anything well. Sometimes it's the smallest things that can bring me
joy. I took Friday off work in anticipation of the Bloody Words writing
conference. I was too excited by my shop when I came home with shrimp,
escargots and cherries amongst my normal list of grocery needs. I look
so forward to what I have to eat at home that I rarely eat out.

To me, food is one more reason to love life.

My Ultimate Favorite Salad (that doesn't need salad dressing)
Spring Mix (mixed greens)
Dandelion leaves
Red & Green Seedless grapes
Grape tomatoes
Mango
Kiwi
Strawberries
Pineapple
Cheese (Havarti, Double Cream Brie or Cambozola)
If I feel like having salad dressing I add, Renee's Ravin' Raspberry
Dressing

Favorite Feel Good Breakfast
Raspberries and Blueberries mixed together

Fresh Juice (I have a Charlescraft juice extractor)
Oranges
Pineapple
Strawberries

OR

Cranberries
Green Grapes
Pineapple

I Don't Eat Enough Vegetables Juice
3 Beets
A bag of Carrots
A bag of Apples

Give em a whirl, tell me what you think.

EY

Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall

Sunday 11June06 12:35pm

I worked for a Life Coach as her personal assistant for four months
from November 2004 to March 2005. It was an interesting experience but
the best thing was that I learned that I hated winter a lot less than I
believed I did.

In one of her regular seminars, she made the attendees who said they
hated winter list all the reasons why they hated winter and then what
they could love about winter. I realized that I always loved shoveling
snow, cross country skiing, and snow shoeing. I love the slow down
(hibernation) that winter brings, the ability to stay home all day long
to read and write, cooking hot meals that make the apartment smell like
a loving home. I love making different kinds of hot soups in my two
crockpots that are on the go all winter long. I love Christmas and my
solitary Christmas ritual.

What I love about winter is the first snow fall when the snow is
covering every surface making the trees look like marshmallow trees. I
love making footprints in the snow or following someone else's
footprints pretending that I'm on the trail of a bandit or about to
find my one true love. ha ha! I especially love when the footprints are
huge and I can giggle at how much smaller my footprints are in
comparison.

Because of the winter I appreciate the first days of Spring and the
promise of possibilities. Who can be in a bad mood when it's the first
warm day and you feel like you're standing straighter. All of a sudden
we come in to bloom like flowers facing toward the life giving sun.
You undo your coat, look up to the sky, take a deep breath and smile.

I love all the colorful tulips that are planted by Parks and Rec and
the smell of lilacs that make me inhale deeper like a smoker satisfying
her nicotine fit.

I love looking forward to the Summer and BBQ's, sitting on patios with
refreshing cold beer or Sangria with pieces of fruit floating in it.
There are so many types of beer these days that it's so hard to choose
just one. Back in the days of Growler's, my favorite pub that has
closed down, summer meant wheat beer with slices of lemon to squeeze
in. I miss Growler's!

I love CHERRIES! I can and do eat cherries all summer long. I buy them
when they are $6.99 a pound and buy more of them when they are 99 cents
a pound. I love walking and roller blading, sitting in the park with
nuts for the squirrels. I love visiting Buddy the donkey at the Farm
and the little chapel across the street where Davin's funeral was and
subsequently where his memorial plaque is.

I love Canada's Wonderland and roller coasters. I love how clear and
even my skin is from the kiss of the sun. I love peaches, nectarines,
watermelons, cantaloupes, raspberries, blueberries and did I mention
CHERRIES?

I love the Jazz Festival (Montreal preferably), Caribana and Gay pride.
I love seeing hot men that have worked out all winter and the sexy
women that turn their heads. I love wearing sun dresses and sandals. I
love sweating!

It's harder for me to transition from Summer to Fall however. I still
get a bit of the back to school malaise even though I haven't been in
school for years. But I love back to school specials (i'm addicted to
office supplies) and Indian Summer with a few bonus patio days. I love
looking forward to Author's festival in October and the turkey eating
of Thanksgiving.

Learning to remember what I love about winter has made me appreciate
all the seasons. If I say I only love summer it leaves me with a few
short months of enjoyment and nine months of self imposed misery. I
used to think that I wanted to live somewhere that was summer all year
long but now I know that I'd miss winter and the excuse to hibernate
which brings me to spring and it's many promises.

EY
Inspiration all year round.

Examples of Odd

4June06 Sunday 11:56pm

Quote - "Give me a man who sings at his work." Thomas Carlyle

Who knew that life would be like this when we grew up? Do you ever
notice that you relive the emotional stuff of your childhood
repeatedly?

I've been able to compare some of the jobs I've worked at over the
years to my childhood. I can remember writing in my journal years ago
about an international theatre company I worked for. I remember
comparing the big boss limping into the building as my alcoholic father
coming home in a violent rage. The staff go into hiding mode waiting
for mommy (the general manager) to come and say, "It's okay kids.
Daddy's not drunk and he's in a good mood."

At my previous arts job, my silences were similar to when I wouldn't
speak to my step father for months at a time. At that job, I knew I
couldn't fight the system so I said nothing at all. As a pre-teen, I
didn't yet have the courage to stand up to my step father, so I drove
him crazy by ignoring him as if he didn't exist.

At my current job it's about being the odd one out.

In my childhood home I was the black child in a world of white siblings
(one older brother and two younger step sisters). Things were said
about black people that were unacceptable. My mother, a black woman,
was often the one who said the unacceptable things. The life my white
step father embraced implied the rest.

I always believed that my step father wanted to be black. He hung out
downtown at Rockhead's Paradise, a black owned establishment, that had
a predominantly black clientelle. The black men he hung with and
subsequently emulated lived a life of crime. My step dad's claim to
fame (before he went to jail for break and enter charges) was that he
was the most trustworthy coke dealer in Montreal. He invited every
sort of black criminal into our house - pimps, bank robbers, murderers
etc.

While the coke was snorted, the alcohol was mixed and the music played,
the discussions were primarily about the black world versus the white
world. The black man was doomed they'd all agree. My mother would
inevitably pipe in on how I would surpass black expectations and in the
next breath she'd discuss how I'd always struggle against being kept
down by a system built for whites.

In the daytime, my mother hated my nappy hair and made fun of it in
front of my white stepsisters with their easy does it hair. They had
the hair that most every black woman coveted (until we get in touch
with our roots) and every black man loves about his white woman.

I had no choice but to embrace my blackness other wise I'd have no
sense of a stable foothold.

In my day job there are moments of emotional similarities. I am the
only woman in a group of 13 or so men. They all love women obviously
but they are guys. They point out hot women and believe things about
women (not their wives of course) that are just plain stupid.

There are jokes about my singleness, why I should date a white guy that
only likes black women. One of them even went so far as to tell me that
a real woman has babies (No, he and I aren't close).

As the female representative that absorbs the messages, I can either
debunk a myth or perpetuate it. I choose to do neither. I choose to
embrace my femininity in my unique way with a ball breaking hard edge
and a warm mushy inner core.

I come face to face with what others believe of my type (black, single,
woman) and who I choose to be amidst the mixed messages. I see each
job, each relationship, each encounter as representing a layer of
myself as food for thought... and writing material.

EY
Living in Inspiration

Work on Earth

4June06 Sunday 11:36pm

"Rachel came through you to do her work on Earth, which includes her manner of death."
Quote from Ram Dass letter to parents of child killed violently (in book Inspiration. Your Ultimate Calling - Dr. Wayne Dyer)


I often wonder what my work on Earth is meant to be. I analyze and pick apart situations and my reactions to them. What was the benefit of feeling left out as a child? I had to rely more on myself, depend less on the need to be a part of a group. Certainly the constant moves in my early childhood helped me through that. Yet I still get insulted when someone deliberately leaves me out.

What lesson am I still not learning? The learning is in finding the benefit in the so-called negative.

Looking at the recent incident ( see = Miscellaneous - Interesting 18May06 below) at work with the guys getting a special lunch when I wasn't at work, one benefit is that it's good for me to miss out both health and weight wise. My brown bagged lunches are far healthier than any special lunch they could order.

Another benefit is that I have to stop and look at my reactions and attitudes and how I choose to behave.

It's a bit of a reality check that people are sometimes happier when they are upsetting others. it is up to me how I choose to react to any situation. That is definitely something I need to get a better handle on.

There were times as a child, when I was at my happiest, that I felt like my mother deliberately did or said something to wipe the happy off my face. it was the feeling that was depressing but the lesson was to choose to be happy anyway.

We've all said that about people, " She gets on my nerves, she's so damn happy all the time."

"She's ugly (name your insult), what's she got to be happy about?"

Sometimes the only enjoyment we can see is the opportunity to pick on someone until they feel as miserable as us. It makes me think of my harmless jokes and what they may mean to others. I want to be more mindful of what I do and say.

There is inspiration in every situation especially the one that upsets me.

EY
Living in Inspiration.

Why Do I Cry?

Sunday 21May06 10:43pm
Why do I cry when I see others do well? It's about a person living
their purpose.

I can watch a singer perform and get all teary eyed. I can watch the
Olympics and ball my eyes out as an athlete wins a medal. Sometimes
it's only a bronze but knowing the back story that got that athlete to
the bronze over takes my emotions.

It's about purpose. There's something about watching a person and
knowing, witnessing them living their purpose that affects me. It
inspires me. It makes me wonder what the world would be like if we all
lived our purpose, if I truly lived my purpose. All anyone really has
to do is persist through all the odds. Just because we know our purpose
doesn't mean we'll be without obstacles.

I cry because these people have persisted through some obstacles that
other people couldn't live through, they've persisted and I'm watching
the culmination of that persistence. It's beautiful and inspiring and
it makes me weep...

EY
Living an Inspired Life.

Inspired by Animals

I Protect Animals
Sunday 21May06 9:01pm

When I was growing up I never spoke up for myself. For one, I was too
scared to. But mostly I tried to be the perfect child to balance off
all the trouble my brother got into. And when my step-sisters were in
my life I felt that I was considered the inferior child by my step
father and my mother. I coped by thinking, writing and spending my
time with my animals. We always had an assortment of animals in our
house.

My dog Smokey was part Collie and part German Shepherd. He was born on
my fifth birthday.

He was my best companion for 16 years. When I was little and scared of
the dark I awoke many a night to find him checking on me just as I
stirred and his presence always made me feel protected. He would climb
into bed with me if I asked him to.

We left him behind with friends when we left for British Columbia for
part of the year when I was in grade three. When we came back to
Montreal we saw him scratching at our front door as my mother paid the
cab fare. He turned and looked at the cab and came running over wagging
his tail and talking. He went from whining to howling as he ran around
us telling us he missed us or he was glad we were back or better yet
giving us shit for leaving him.

When we moved above a pizza place that year and things had turned
violent with my mother's boyfriend Frank, I hugged Smokey daily.
Sometimes for hours I'd put my arms around him and he would rest his
head on my chest, never moving away until I did. I was calmed by his
heartbeat. Sometimes I felt that he was the only way I received love.

As a teenager when the rules of the house got particularly strict
because in my step father's humble opinion, they had to make sure I
didn't come home pregnant, Smokey was my get out of jail free card. I
would take him out on walks for hours. I would go to the park where my
friends hung out or show up at a friends house and people who didn't
like dogs loved Smokey.

I may never have spoken up for myself but because of Smokey I spoke up
for my animals. My step father would tease or kick the cats when ever
he was mad at my mother. I would find this anger inside of me that knew
no bounds and feared no one and I would speak up. I told him that the
animals didn't deserve that treatment. They didn't know that they
should hide because he was mad. They were defenseless and what kind of
person picked on a defenseless animal.

I knew the gift that animals gave us.

It didn't really stop my step father but something shifted inside me.
It made me a little braver to speak my mind once in awhile and it
brought me to 16 years old and a readiness to go toe to toe in battle
with him. For two years my stepfather and I fought and I won the
ultimate battle. I knew I'd never let a bully of a man beat me like the
men that beat my mother.

As an adult in my own apartment I adopted Saki, my black cat from the
Humane Society. She hated being in a cage so much that she pulled her
hair out from her backside and her tail. For her whole life I vowed
that I would never leave her in a cage for more than a night. I always
said, "See you later," when I left the house so that she would learn
that it meant that I was coming back.

Saki was my companion who loved our evening ritual of chasing my hand
under the pillow before we went to sleep. I swear that cat understood
what laughter was and deliberately did things to make me laugh. She
was grateful for being rescued from the Humane Society and was super
affectionate. If I asked her for a kiss she'd press her lips on mine.
She placed her paw on my hand and looked at me when she wanted me to
pat her. She sat on my desk when I was writing.

She knew my schedule and if I pressed the snooze one time too many and
fell back into a deep sleep she would meow into my face until I woke
up. When I was suffering from depression she cared for me. She never
let me sleep alone and always had a paw touching me.

When I had Saki for a year my boyfriend Jeff and I were discussing
moving in together. We discussed what our expectations were so we had
an idea of what the other one was thinking. At one point he said
flippantly, "You'll have to get rid of that cat. I don't like cats."
It took me days before I blurted out, "If I have to choose between you
and my cat, I don't know who I'd choose."
"You'd choose the cat," Jeff said.
"Well yeah, I was just trying to be nice about it."

I kept my sweet Saki who was to become the cat I described and Jeff and
I never moved in together although we didn't break up. He came over
one time and pushed Saki the ever friendly personable cat away roughly.
To his surprise, I said, "Be nice to her. This is her house not yours."
He was never mean to her again.

I got 17 years of love from Saki. My relationship with Jeff wasn't half
that.

When she got ill I took her to the vet and discussed my options. If it
was just a mild illness I would do all that was possible. If it was
something major, I would put her down because staying caged at the vet
would be too stressful for her and like being back at the Humane
Society. Obviously there was no way to communicate to her that she was
only in the cage to get better I would never be selfish enough to do
that for a few more months with my beloved cat. But I'd cross that
bridge when I found out the results.

Of course it was serious. She had kidney failure. The vet that called
me with news was different from the one I'd left Saki with. She gave me
the news while I sat at work and promptly talked over me about the
treatment that she was going to start Saki on: forced feedings,
intravenous fluids. Saki would have to stay at the vet for at least a
week... blah blah blah.

I finally got my bearings and said that I would pick up my cat that
evening after work and keep her for a day or so to say my good byes and
I'd bring her back to put her down as discussed with Justin, the
original vet. This woman basically called me cruel and how dare I give
up on my cat the moment she got a little sick. I told her that I
rescued this cat from the Humane Society and I vowed I'd never let her
spend more than a night in a cage. Since she was a cat and not a human
I had no way of communicating with her why she was in a cage. How could
having her feel like I've abandoned her be beneficial to her health?

"Well it's like giving a baby a needle you can't tell the baby what's
going to happen,"she said.

"You're comparing my cat to a baby? When's the last time you stuck your
baby in a cage?"

I was crying by the time I said, "If you can guarantee that my cat will
live for 10 years I'll do it. I want her to live to be 27."
"Oh I'm sorry I can't even guarantee a year."
"And you want me to cause her undue suffering, put myself thousands of
dollars in debt and you can't even guarantee me a year? How can I say I
love my cat and put her through that?"

I sobbed so much at my desk that my boss called the vet back and gave
her shit.

When I picked Saki up the paper work had in large block letters,
"CLIENT HAS DENIED PATIENT TREATMENT. THIS CAT WILL DIE WITHOUT
TREATMENT."

I brought Saki home and after she paced and chatted for a half hour,
she spent a sleepless night as she roamed around the house aimlessly. I
called in sick to work the next day and spent the day with my girl. I
tried everything to get her to eat. I gave her a raw egg. I gave her a
cooked egg. I gave her the juice from canned Salmon; baby food; fried
garlic, butter and Parmesan cheese (one of her favorites). She didn't
eat. At 3pm that afternoon she climbed back into her carry case and
went to sleep for the first time since I'd brought her home. I stared
at her and felt that she was telling me that she was ready to go.

I brought her back to the vet. Justin came out from behind the counter
and asked, "What's wrong?"
"She's ready," I said.

He brought me into the room and explained that he'd take her away to
give her medication to calm her before the process would begin as most
pets seem to sense that they are going down and freak out. He told me
about all the needles that she would get and that when he got to the
blue liquid, that was the one that would end her life. He took her away
and came back almost immediately saying that she was so calm he decided
not to give her the meds.
"I've never seen a cat so calm before during this," he said.
"I know, I told you, she's ready."

As Justin started the process I told Saki over and over again, "See you
later. See you later."

I held her after she died. I held her and touched her and talked to
her. I said, "See you later," one more time and I left.
I will never respect people who hurt animals. They give us a silent
unconditional love and all we have to do is be nice to them. They help
sick people feel a little less pain and care for us when we are
depressed.

I don't care for the cliche about the single woman with her cats as a
pathetic image. Our animals have been more dependable than any human
being in our lives.

EY
Living an Inspired Life

Inspired to Leave

Thursday 18May06 7:47pm
I've got to work this weekend and next weekend at my part time gig and
then I'm giving it up. After 10 years it's time to walk away.

I've always been the more than one job kinda person but it's grown
tired. It's time to use my free time for writing plus the extra pay
cheque isn't all that extra, if you know what I mean.

I'm grateful for that job. It bailed me out of many a mess but now I
can barely find the motivation to show up. The environment isn't
conducive to any kind of joy. There is a palpable tension that I'm
always waiting to jump out and engulf us all. Everybody is nice but
it's the scared nice, no one wants to say what they really think about
the bullshit that's going on.

In the good old days, I saw shows from around the world that I would
have no other means of seeing. In the good old days, shows cut their
teeth there before they went to larger venues, we had Stomp first and
the Tap Dogs first. Staff stayed for opening night and closing night
parties. We met awesome talents in shows and on staff.

You didn't need a social life, this job was your social life.
But all that has changed. The bulk of the people don't know what the
job used to be like because they haven't been there that long. They
haven't suffered through some of the crazy festivals - 8 hour operas.
They don't miss Robert LePage and his shows that were larger than life.
They haven't lived the excitement of a World Stage that was sold out
before it even started. And I feel sorry for them. I feel sorry that
I've come to despise my part time job. I feel sorry that no one seems
to push the limits in arts programming that kept people talking for
years.

But I'll have my memories... Today's Japan; The Three Lives of Lucie
Cabrol; The Trick is to Keep Breathing; DV8; Robert LePage; Caroline
O'Connor (who made me cry, told me that she saw me in the front row and
did the show for me, made me laugh while we sucked back some beer);
Yimimangaliso; Tap Dogs (Ben Mayne where are you?); Carbone 14; Que
Circe; Yousou N'Dour; Cassandra Wilson; the old African man that
performed at the Bamboo in his language and despite not understanding a
word he had the audience silenced by his beauty; Bill T Jones; Learie
McNicholl ; the tents in the parking lot; and so much more.

EY

Miscellaneous

Thursday 18May06 6:56pm
It's interesting how stuff from my childhood can just crop up out of
nowhere. Sometimes the same shit crops up over and over.

Today the guys were teasing me that the boss was going to order lunch
for every one tomorrow, my day off. It's happened three times already.
Three times that lunch was ordered on my vacation day. I try not to get
upset about it but it bugs the shit out of me. Why is it that he
chooses those days as if it's some sort of punishment for me taking
days off that I'm rightfully entitled to? It's not that I need to have
the food anyway. I need to lose weight. Most of the time it's junk like
Pizza or Veal sandwiches. But it still hurts to be left out.

I think back to my mom. I think back to the days when I had to
understand why she put my step sisters needs ahead of mine. She said
she didn't want them to feel like they were missing out on anything
because I lived with their father and they didn't. It was no picnic
living with their father. I tried to understand but something deep
inside of me told me that my mother should want to put me first. She
never really did.

I can remember offering to buy my step sister a treat when she
inadvertently told me that my mom had given her extra money, over and
above her allowance from her father. It turned out that she had way
more money than I had and she was at least four years younger than me.
I was pissed and hurt and felt somehow that even my mother thought I
was somehow inferior or undeserving.

At my part - time job I watched for 2 years how my boss, who was one of
my best friends, bought a birthday cake for each staff member and then
just before my birthday she announced to me that she was no longer
buying birthday cakes because no one appreciated it. Two years in a
row.
She bought cake for people she said she hated and couldn't fork out a
little more for my birthday. It just reminded me of being a kid.

I wonder how old we get before we stop being haunted by our childhood.
Is there ever a time when you look at an incident as just the incident
and not as a series of repeated stories? Who really knows.

How do I contend with feeling like I'm always the one left out? Friends
that come into town but forget to call me. Work situations where the
treat is divvied out when I'm not around.

Or better yet, when will I stop caring?

It feels like I'm continually chasing after being included. I think I'm
viewed with some sort of respect and admiration and then I live a
repeat of some childhood shit. Dammit I'm an outsider, I get that, but
sometimes can't the people closest to me just give me a fucking break?

EY

I Am a Fool

Too funny! I decided to have another card picked for me only for Shelley as opposed to my full name... It turns out I really am the Fool!

You Are The Fool

You are a fascinating person who is way beyond the concerns of this world. Young at heart, you are blissfully unaware of any dangers ahead. You are a true wanderer - it has be difficult finding your place in this world. Full of confidence, you are likely to take a leap of faith. Your fortune: You are about to embark on a new phase in your life. This may mean changing locations, jobs, friends, or love status. You are open about what the future will bring, and free of worry. You have made your peace with fate, and you're ready to start down your new path.

What Tarot Card Are You?

Links

Sunday 7May06 3pm

If you can read my thoughts about God and Dreams, you can read some of this stuff. Or better yet, understand why I do!

Quado is my favorite of all of them.

Click here for Quado: Read or Subscribe

Heavenletters

Click here for Heaven Letters

Daily Positive Thought

Click here Positive Thought


What Tarot Card Am I? Shelley-Lynne Domingue
An appropriate Tarot card for exactly how I am feeling. Interesting!

You Are Death

You symbolize the end, which can be frightening. But you also symbolize the immortality of the soul. You represent transformation, rebirth of a new life. Sweeping away the past is part of this card, as painful as it may be. Your fortune: Don't worry, this card does not predict death itself. Instead it foreshadows the ending of an era of your life, one that is hard to let go of. But with the future great new things will come, and it's time to embrace them. Mourn for a while, but then face the future with humility and courage.

Click here and Tell me, What Tarot Card Are You?

Life is Magic

7May06 Sunday 3:40pm

I believe in God (a higher power) and dreams. I believe that God is
energy neither male nor female or both male and female. I can remember
being 4 years old and lying in my bed in the morning, forced to stay
there because my mother, father and brother were still sleeping. I
remember being surrounded with white light. The light was warm and
comforting. I was safe.

I'm not positive if it was a voice in my head or just a belief but
something told me that I was special. It wasn't a conceited kind of
special as I look on it now, it was more about being unique (which we
all are) and feeling that inner love for my specialness or uniqueness.
Of course we've all traveled through the years of attempting to be less
unique and more clone like trying to emulate whatever clique or peer
group we believed would serve us in the moment but I still remember
myself from before that time.

What I like to believe now is that it was God communicating with me.
If God communicated with Moses, I ask myself, why wouldn't or couldn't
God energy communicate with me?

All through my childhood and into my early adult years I suffered from
nightmares and night terrors. I had horrifying dreams almost nightly. I
walked and talked and screamed in my sleep. I realize now that my night
terrors were a symptom of the scary awake life that I often lived in.
There was the violence suffered at the hands of my alcoholic father,
the fear that my mother didn't or couldn't love me as much as my
brother and subsequently my step sisters. There was a fine melange that
fed into my inner turmoil and haunted me in my sleep.

It wasn't until I was in my twenties that I'd heard of keeping dream
journals. I heard of at least one person curing her nightmares and
hoped the process would alleviate mine since I was on my own. I didn't
want to live with the fear that one night I might walk out of my
apartment and Lord knows what kind of real terror I could have sleep
walked in to. I didn't want to have to live with others just because I
walked in my sleep. I didn't want that kind of dependency.

I can't pinpoint exactly when the night terrors stopped, I know it was
a gradual process and I can say that I haven't had regular nightmares
in close to twenty years. I've had other dreams that have impacted me.

In my late twenties, I started to have dreams that took place in the
same diner that I ultimately called the Spiritual diner. It was
spiritual because I met dead people there. I met Marvin Gaye in my
first dream there and had a conversation about singing. Something I
don't do enough of now. Marvin had been dead at least eight years.

It's ironic, years later because of my spiritual diner dreams, when my
mother passed I was told by a psychic that when my mother came to me in
my dreams, "Ask her what she's come to tell you." I was able to hear
what the psychic told me and not just laugh it off. I believed that I
could have a conversation with my dead mother in my dreams.

Around 1990 or 1991, I had my first real bout of depression that lasted
over two weeks. I was depressed about a boyfriend who was 14 years my
senior and lacking in real intimacy. I was depressed because my mother
and I were at odds with each other because I was rolling around in
childhood memories and having difficulties with reconciling my mother's
love with these images.

I hardly slept. I was distraught with fatigue because if I was sad I
normally could at least sleep. I've read or heard that we need three
worries or stresses to cause us to be depressed. My third worry was
that I had lost one of my part-time jobs and the other one was barely
covering my weekly expenses.

In that sleepless two week period I cried, I paced and I contemplated
suicide. Maybe this was it for me. Maybe this was all I could ever hope
for - fights with my mom, a boyfriend with intimacy issues and no job
prospects. I accidentally started a fire in my apartment by keeping the
gas stove on to generate some heat because the Super hadn't turned the
heat up enough. I'd fallen asleep for about an hour or so and woke up
moments after my bottle of oil fell from the back ledge of the stove
into the flame and created a raging inferno.

I jumped out of bed and called 911 as I grabbed the box of salt and
poured the whole box into the fire. I stopped the fire before the
sirens screamed their announcement to my neighbours down our quiet
street. The huge rubber booted fire men complimented me on my calm and
smarts to have used salt instead of water as I apologized for calling
them for nothing since there was no fire when they got there.

After they left I decided that wanting to die was out of the question
since the thought of dying in a fire scared the shit out of me. I felt
like that fire was a response by God for my suicidal thoughts, to show
me that I didn't want to die. The depression, however, did not subside.
I endured another week of 2 to 3 hours sleep or none at all. I was
fatigued, emotional, and sure I was going insane.

I've heard stories about people surrendering their lives to God. Quite
frankly, I never believed them. I didn't believe in surrendering. I
didn't believe that it did any good or gave any substantial peace. I
didn't believe enough in believing.

I sat on my bed sobbing my soul out. Deep inside me I felt that
presence/voice/belief from way back when I was four years old - the one
that affirmed that I was special. I heard/felt/inhabited the word,
"surrender." I got down on my knees beside my bed and begged, "Please
just give me some peace." I do not remember getting off my knees and
getting into bed and falling asleep. I do remember the dream that I
had:

In my dream, I was waitressing at the spiritual diner. It was a super
busy night and I was frustrated because I knew I didn't waitress
anymore (in my awake life) and I hadn't had a break. I gave one table
of customers their order of four plates of food and saw Mahatma Gandhi
under another table in the seated meditative position (lotus?)
I could hear him chanting. I told myself that as soon as I had a moment
I would go and join him, "he can help me."

I rushed through the double doors towards the kitchen to retrieve the
next order and Pope John Paul II came out of a side hallway and made
the sign of the cross blessing me as I walked toward him. I could see
the intricate detail of the gold embroidery on the wrists of his white
robe.

I went through another set of double doors and stopped abruptly inside
the candlelit incense filled room. There was a man in each corner of
the silent room and a Holy book was leaned against the center column. I
bowed my body and head down in silent apology for disturbing their
ritual and backed out of the room.

When I woke up moments later, I lay enjoying this calming electric
energy that flowed through my whole body. The sensation was something
like what I feel after I meditate or get a massage only a hundred times
stronger. My depression had faded and I subsequently believed that life
has magic.

I see the connections through my past that leads me to believe in an
energy larger than myself that is also within me (within all of us). I
believe that my life holds so much more than I've often allowed myself
to visit. Lately I'm feeling ready to start that journey like The Fool
of the Tarot.

My interpretation of the Fool is that the being (male or female as the
case may be) doesn't see the cliff she's about to fall off in order to
start her journey. The cliff is a leap of faith. The leap of faith is
trusting that your journey is your uniquely special path. The fool is
optimistic, she hasn't thought of all the challenges she's going to
have to face on her journey - the injuries of the initial fall and the
pain that comes with experience. She is optimistic because she does
know whatever path she takes will bring joy and pain in equal measure
just as her past has brought her. No matter which way she turns is the
way she is meant to go.

Today I'm declaring that I'm a Fool. I'm traveling my path with a
little more optimism and the expectation of the unknown challenges that
will teach me inspiring lessons.

I'm here! You can love me or not love me; laugh at me or not laugh at
me; believe in me or not believe in me. God gave us choice and this is
what I choose until I choose something else.

Great Astrology Links

Astrology
Good in depth monthly forecasts by Susan Miller

Astrology Zone link

New Millenium Being
Astrology and Meditation
At the site click on Astro Ezine

New Millenium Being link

Numerology
At the site scroll down to Monthly Numerology Forecast
In depth Numerology link

Buddy the Donkey

His real name is Dusty but I call him Buddy

When I worked at the Ontario Science Centre I used to get to see Buddy twice a day. I'd sneak him carrots and apples and we became good friends. So much so that when ever I called his name, he would come running.
I wonder if I'll ever have a pet donkey?

EY

Finding Myself

4:41am Friday 5May06
I can remember that at ten years old I genuinely liked myself as I was.
I knew that I was a caring person. I liked that I could stick up for
myself and I knew that I had every right to be upset when I was put
second or third. It was the beginning of my dismissive years for sure.

I liked that I could out run most of the boys and I knew that I was
good enough to have the boy that I liked like me in return. And he did
too. His name was Dennis and he was Greek. When all of us neighbourhood
kids played hide and seek, Dennis and I always chose places to hide
together. If I said that I couldn't find my way in the dark, Dennis
would always say, "my hand is out, reach for my hand." I would touch
his hand and we would hide pressed close together. It was the closest
thing a boy and a girl would get to any kind of intimacy at 10 years
old. Dennis was sweet and comforting and reassurring.

At 10 years old, I was sure of myself and my abilities. I loved to draw
cartoons but my brother was such a superior artist that I decided to
make drawing my secondary talent. I decided that I would be a writer
instead and I started to write. Back then I wasn't overly critical of
my writing. I somehow instinctively knew that with time and practice my
writing ability would improve. Writing was a game of finding the right
words like rolling doubles while playing monopoly. Writing occupied my
mind and if I wasn't that quick with mathematics when quizzed in class
at least I knew deep inside me that I had something that I was quick
and smart at even if nobody else knew. I knew that I had my own special
something within me.

I feel myself slowly moving through the tail end of my latest
transition. I'm getting through and out of the repressed anger of the
emotional hardships of the last few years - jobs that I hated but had
no choice but to stay at for survival purposes, mistreatment of people
that didn't turn out to be friends, the death of my mother and feeling
like my whole sense of family died with her.

I'm feeling inspired. I'm focusing less on annoying incompetent people
and more on my individual path, who is going to travel with me, who
I'll have no sadness in leaving behind. I'm starting to genuinely like
myself like that ten year old - good parts and not so good. I feel less
of that need to be perfect and then beat myself down because I'm not.
I feel less of a need to control the outcome of every situation and yet
understand that I will have times when I backslide. That's human
nature.

I want to be more of that person who is passionate about things like
writing and music, enjoying nature and laughing at my favorite donkey
buddy. I'm finding more inspiration and am coming up to the ability to
see something loving in people that I don't particularly care for.

I had a conversation with Cinnabon on Sunday that what I love about
doing body work (she is a massage therapist and I do Reiki) is that
whoever gets on my massage table and allows me to put my hands on them
I fall in love with. It's something about how all the daily masks and
walls fall away when a person is on the table with their eyes closed
and I can almost see what that person looked like as a child. I can
feel the sensitivity and need for approval that every human being had
at one time before they found the need to disguise their truth.

What a great gift to be able to see in to someone's soul. To cut
through the disguises and find that under all the layers that we're all
the same. To find some sort of connection to humanity. It makes life a
little less solitary.

I don't know how I'm going to fit it in but I'm going to start offering
my Reiki services again. Whether it's for free or I offer my services
at a community centre or for fundraisers. That ten year old who I liked
being had pursuits that she enjoyed. She got some of this living thing
right. To start, Cinnabon and I are going to swap services with each
other. Reiki for swedish massage.

Living an inspired life.
EY