Yesterday I had a very down day. I don’t mean that I was gothic weeping and trailing my torn black gown around the dusty floor. The emotional element was not telenovela drama but rather just a sense of disconnection. Like having lost my keys, I simply misplaced my joy.

I woke up from another dream about having a job. It has happened for several days now. It indicates to me that my sense of purpose program is firmly tied with my past habits and experiences. I return to the work as being “on purpose” in my dreams. The small flash thought of “am I up to this job?” comes in the unconscious state. However, I wake up happy knowing that I was up to the challenges set for me during my slumber.

The good news is that I simply allowed the non-productive, stalled and slack-ass day to run its course.

A friend suggested that I have been following political drama so closely that I was dealing with the “negativity virus” I had picked up.

The ability to step back and observe myself with love and compassion allowed for yesterday to simply be another lesson. I observed that “this woman” had a low down flat in the bed wrapped in the bathrobe kind of day. But she did not trash talk herself, nag herself, create a sense of fear that somehow she was losing the competitive edge, the race to the finish line, all possible changes at the opportunity.

It was a victory for me to see I simply refrained from taking myself out into an alley and beating the crap out of myself for being human.

As I was doing the dishes this morning after coming back from a 30 minute walk, it occurred to me that I am always pushing into new territory in my relationship with myself.

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The workaholic self in the past would not allow me to get much sleep, or stop for the washroom, or eat regularly. From that point, I have transformed myself. Physical self care is a deeply hard wired habit. I rarely even notice how beautifully I attend my body.

The environment of my home; the energy in my friend’s groups; the care I take of my spirit are all now hard wired. My house is clean, my friends are supportive and accept me for where I am in my journey, and I have the sense that I am surrounded and protected by spirit constantly.

As I was washing the dishes, I suddenly understood that the higher levels of Maslow’s pyramid where now where I needed to climb.

Not knowing how to be joyous, not understanding when I need to stop and do something that makes me feel radiantly alive, waiting too long to recharge at the Tesla station are the next areas of growth.

Yesterday, as I lay with unbrushed hair, an old bathrobe semi-wrapped around me because I was too dispirited to find the ties and my mind gone to some Netflix distraction zone I did not hate on myself. However, I can see today that it was where I needed to go.

Always, there are lessons and opportunities to grow.

I am simply higher up the pyramid and on new ground. I stood in the cold air on Knox Mountain this morning engulfed by the no self beauty. The gray and the cold was boundless.

It is all a lesson if I step back far enough, I can see it below spreading out, this life; these narratives; these thousands of experiences just structures like the houses spread out below me.

So working on allowing joy is the next assignment. And you have to know me to understand what an amazing revelation that is. Or perhaps not. Perhaps you just get it.

When the last series on Netflix that drew your attention was finished at 2 a.m.; when the last day of sun in the sky was well over a week ago; when the next change in the weather system threatens to be weeks from now; when the list of things you intend to do are as uninteresting as eating a slice of the heel of stale week old bread; when the business is slow and friends are all caved up fighting some heroic battle with a plague like virus; when you find yourself going through emails from nobody interesting and watching posts from Facebook with no thing except postings of the insistence of the wrongness of other dunder headed dumbed down walking dead vampire black night of ignorance creatures; when the prevailing smell in your house is of the super strong vinegar you have used to unblock the drains because damn it you will get something done today; when you watch the Tony Robbins video and your response is “Fuck you, Tony Robbins,”; when your entire narrative is bland, obstructive not like a sand storm but more like a dandelion head storm with no particular drama offering itself to juice you awake; that is when you hope you are at the bottom of it.

But you walk over the calendar after drifting on the internet for three hours and see, holy hell, that it is still January. You are prepared for this feeling of disconnect and floating disembodied grayness but now now. Not yet!

February, my mother used to repeated tell me, was when the lab where she worked had more medical tests than the other eleven months together. People were coming in to try to figure out the rash, the cough, the fever, the diarrhea, the sense of weakness, the lack of will. But, she told me, it is just the February affliction for places where the sun has been banned by low pressure fronts, rain clouds, obscuring mists.

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Why?

So I put vinegar in the drains, I dust, I do dishes, and I make a list for the day even though the smirching darkness is headed in.

This being human is an amazing challenge. And it isn’t even February yet. I might make toast and bury it in sugary jam. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

When you have run out of fixes there is always coffee and toast.

There is a tension in the air of North America and a watchfulness of the world on the eve of Trump’s inauguration. Once when I was in New Mexico, the air felt stretched thin. It was hot and impressively still as I stood in the laundromat. The sound of crickets, dogs, people moving through the streets just stopped. The pressure had built to the point of affliction.

getting caught in the whirl wind

And as I watch social media tonight there is a similar sense of prescient not knowing. People are not knowing how this happened. People are not knowing if the new president is the result of fate, corruption spiraling out of control (because corruption has a decent structure), or if it somehow his or her own fault (I should have know/voted/chosen differently).

The vacuum is oppressive. Obama is leaving and there is only emotion to replace him. To relieve the yawning opening sense of loss, people are choosing a particular focus.

Some are huddled fearfully under the stairs trying not to breathe noisily. Some are armed with weapons of mass distraction. Others are deciding to march. Demonstrators are planning to witness for human rights; to witness for their new leader; to act as a human barricade between three other factions (see meat wall).

William Butler Yeats lived in a time that was also “an opening” or shift in global energy. And it is his words that come to mind from the poem The Second Coming:

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Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

The only thing that I know is that the weather systems will change. There are laws of shifting air, exchanges of temperature, moisture, pressure that are at work.

And it is only increasing the velocity of emotion if I stand anticipating that either the storm will come, a violence of rain or unexpected winds. I clean my house. I work out. I leave the house with the intention of enjoying those I meet.

It is a time to release attachment to a story. It is not the time to cling to the necessity to be correct.

I will do what I can for social justice, for human rights and the rest I will leave to the fates.

I remember standing in the laundromat and allowing the sweat to suddenly appear and roll down my body. And then the rain drove the dust high into the air. The downpour cleaned everything in its way. That is my hope for after this storm.

Well I have obviously been gifted with high levels of Monoamine oxidase (which functions as a regulator of risky behaviour). Individuals with high levels are seen to have an entire narrative generated from the brain as they sit assessing a possible risky action.

down the slippery street

In the past, If I stood on a step ladder, I would spin out the story of me spinning out and falling backward onto my neighbour’s fence. This choose your own adventure pattern had me selecting various outcomes. I could see in full three dimensional colour projections the future quadriplegic self learning to use a mouth tap to read books. The equally likely story would roll out of the wheel chair bound woman who builds her upper body strength to over come all limitations. The brain damaged person whose hair is never more dyed and comes out in gray roots as she drools upon her self would be another possibility. The blinded by grape vines cane tapping ever wary woman could be the outcome.  Or the super woman who pushes herself at just the right moment to fly beyond the fence and land upon her feet was another script that would flash into my head.

I did not like travelling in fast cars, on escalators, on rope bridges, in glass encased elevators or taking off or landing on planes. Always, my brain which had soaked in years of literature would align some outcome from any activity.

The few times I tried to be outrageously courageous did not work out well. In university a group of my husband’s male friends decided to pee in an alleyway. I too was overflowing. So I wanted to “show them” how one of the guys I was. I carefully went behind a barrier, pulled down my pants and stepped on a gigantic nail facing upward in a board. Limping home and then getting to the emergency ward for a tetus shot was I felt the natural outcome for one who had taken such a hasty action.

Is it worth it?

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One of the things that mindfulness practice has done for me is to make me very aware when my high levels of monoamine oxidase is leading me into anxiety, I stop the spiral. My practice of asking, “What if,” helps tremendously.

What if my response is just wisdom? What if my response is bio-chemical? What if my response is irrelevant?

I went to Peru… up the Amazon

The question becomes: ” Is this risk going to make me feel an opening up to life?” The question becomes: ” Is this risk simply a way to distract myself and hook into the necessity for peak experience?”

I watch my reaction and stay in the middle. Fearing the risk, seeking the risk is irrelevant. What values am I pursuing in my life? Sometimes I get on a small plane in a windstorm because I wish to feel safe in the world. Sometimes I walk alone at night because I wish to feel safe in the world. Sometime I say exactly what I am thinking because I want to show up in the world. None of my decisions are based on the thrill of taking the risk in and of itself. But then, I was born with very high monoamine oxidase. And I made it to 72 years of age.

Being aware that who we are, is a gift, makes the mind so much calmer. And a calmer person is more capable of taking well assessed risks. Every day is a new beginning to explore. And there is no story.

Today I was introduced to the Mandela Effect in one of Bashar’s you tube videos. Bashar is a channel who is emphatic, entertaining and engaging.

He assesses the energy shift that is occurring since the Fall of 2016 as the beginning of an entirely different sense of reality. The Mandela effect aligns with the ideas postulated in the study of physics.

All times are one. All possibilities are present at once. All alternatives lives, histories, global energies are at the same time.

The Mandela Effect is a study of how a group of people can hold a tribal belief. The term is garnered from the latest online conspiracy theory that argues we are living in an alternate reality.

The Mandela Effect was named by paranormal enthusiast Fiona Broome when she discovered she wasn’t the only one who wrongly believed Nelson Mandela died in prison in the 1980s.

When I look at the splitting off of “alternative” reality camps that are forming around political beliefs; that are creating a normative response to different races, religions, lifestyles; that have hardcore variance in trust in science, I can see how the Mandela Effect is a definite possibility in today’s world.

First, in politics there are groups who believe that the Democrats rigged the election; others who believe the Republicans rigged the election; others who believe the Russians rigged the elections. The sense that only those that I believe hold truth is isolating us into groups that have little interaction with one another. And at times create so much fear that vitriol spills out.

The planet is dying; the planet can still be saved; there is nothing wrong with the planet are all currently held belief systems.

The differing systems of reality are becoming so divisive that people are refusing to have contact with any other individual, group or source that does not hold an aligned belief with the ones they hold dear.

If Mandela died in 1980, then all of the information has been co-opted, controlled, reconstructed. There is OUR truth and the rest are all manufactured lies.

Physics talks about alternative realities. And what we are seeing today is people choosing which field of truth, which hallway of forward movement they will select to reside within.

My mind takes me to a similar word; a Mandala… distinct formations, clumps, shapes of belief creating a pattern. The original meaning of this geometric shape was a symbol in a dream, representing the dreamer’s search for completeness.

The questions of who is right; who is correct is ultimately irrelevant. The anxiety driven goal of believing that others are deluded at best and down right evil at worst is an irrelevancy.
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The path to completeness is in staying open and dropping the necessity to be right. Being focused on being correct is a trap. It keeps us small. It keeps us always scanning the horizon for a perceived enemy. Everything “out there” is a black op.

As we separate from those who hold differing beliefs and isolate ourselves into tribes of alternative lives, we become smaller and smaller.

We end up arguing at a party that Mandela died in 1980, or 2008 or is still alive.

It just ends up being another distraction from the goal of being alive which is to learn compassion.

What if all of it and none of it was true all at once? It is a possibility.

As the Youngbloods wrote in the song Get Together:
Some may come and some may go
We shall surely pass
When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last
We are but a moment’s sunlight
Fading in the grass

Come on people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another
Right now