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Women’s Intuition & Other Things that Make Perfect Sense

intuitionI’ve been criticized, laughed at and accused of being dishonest. I’ve had people give me funny looks, and think that I was crazy. Well, I am sorta crazy. Just crazy enough to let my hi IQ and creative side shine, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

What I’m talking about is a woman’s intuition.

Oh, don’t go all eye-rolly and flippant on me. If your are a woman, or you know a woman, you’ve experienced this sixth-sense phenomenon first hand at some point in your life.

If you are hiding something, it will be found out anyway. Oh lawdy, yes it will.

My general rule of thumb is if you have a gut-wrenching inclination to check facts, you already know the truth. This is also known in the common vernacular as; being fed a beautifully creative line of el poopo. Why give it any energy? That kind of stuff burns itself out soon enough.

So, let’s go back to  being sorta crazy. First let me say in all seriousness, and with no sarcasm at all, that most women fancy themselves at one time or another to be sorta crazy. We all like to think that there is a wild fierceness about us. I believe that this is drawn from our desire to connect with our ideas of archetypes which combine great femininity, power, love and magic. Sorta crazy is not at all like bat-shit crazy, but it does live in the same town.wildwoman

Regularly, you will find me up on my soapbox, preaching intuition to my friends, younger women, and those who have sought my confidence.

Despite this, I’m not so  good at is using my intuition when it comes to  matters of the heart. Well, only one matter of the heart; my romantic interests.

Yep, I sorta suck at that.  I tend to get dreamy-eyed when my heart is feeling warm, cozy, and snuggled up to a deliciously wonderful man.

Even though I believe intuition is king, I ignore it when it comes to matters of the heart. Why? Because, it’s ok to be dreamy, to believe in something, to want something, and it’s also ok to be wrong.

When intuition can’t be heard over the pitter patter of your heart, remember that your friends still make perfect sense. They are the voice of reason when our heads are buried in the sand, up our bums, or on Cloud 9.

The bottom line remains the same; have the courage to just go with your gut. Raise your intuition high on a pedestal and honour it. Sometimes the things to which we cannot apply logic make us the most human and make us feel alive.

Being wrong is not a sin. Being too afraid to live, is.

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It Whispers

whisper2
“Our intuition is where our true genius lies.”
~A. Artemis~

Relax. Trust the process. Surrender. Good things come to those who wait.

The world, and social media sites are awash with pithy statements. Stop. Go. Om.

Along with our waning attention spans ( over half of you have stopped reading this already), our ability to trust our instincts has been lost as well.

Whether you’re stuck in a bad job or a bad relationship chances are you’ve sought out advice about what you should do. Stick it out or make a run for it?

In the past, I’ve had relationships that I’ve known are no good from the start. Hindsight is 20/20 of course, and I can see now that those relationships lasted as long as they did because I wanted a relationship, but the one I was in was not the one.

There have been other relationships that were interfered with by a third-party, and I took that as a sign it wasn’t meant to be. Hindsight reveals that it was  a good relationship and the interfering party was wrong. Not just wrong, but wretched.

Whether it’s a lopsided friendship, job, questionable  lover, relationship with a faith group or business partner, experience has taught me two things. First, engage your trusted friends and colleagues in a conversation to fully explore what may or may not be happening. Second, and most importantly, come to a conclusion and develop a course of action based on your own intellect and intuition.

Sounds simple doesn’t it?

Are the things that are meant to be, supposed to be a struggle, or feel effortless?

Now  it’s time that I must seek some solitude and listen very closely to what my intuition is whispering….perhaps two fingers of bourbon will help….bottoms up darlings.

 

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Everything is Going Right – You Just Don’t Know it Yet

creative rehabIt’s true. Everything is going exactly how it should be. It’s going exactly how you think it should.

But that’s deceiving isn’t it?

It really is all about the way you perceive things to be. Really it is, I promise.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

Pull up a chair, and get yourself a nice warm cup of tea. Bourbon if you’re a bit of a philosopher, or perhaps a nice little snort of Irish whiskey to warm your insides up against the February outside.

When life collides with the inner machinations of my mind, it gives me cause to pause and let it all trickle in to wherever it’s supposed to settle.

Lately, my full-time gig has not been going as hoped. Don’t get me wrong, I continue to do something I absolutely feel called to do, and I work with the best in my profession.

I also, as it seems, am called to do this writing thing. That wild, unpredictable energy has formed part of my bones and blood since I was a little girl with pigtails and collecting buckets full of crickets.

My living expenses and need to help other people call me to work, my soul calls me to writing. Damn this dissonance of being human!

With my first bookie wookie in the hands of an editor, and my second, being more carefully plotted, I feel the pull to my writing desk much stronger than ever before.

My window opens to evergreens and dogwood. Not bad for a cityscape. A church-window-esque trellis, and the French obelisk  in my urban guerilla garden stand as testaments to milder temperatures, longer hours of sunshine, dishes with fresh basil, and cold drinks adorned by fresh mint.

On the desk to my right, is  a solar-powered windchime which helps bring me back when my creative brain wanders. A  porcelain snail commemorative of a healing sweat lodge keeps the chime company.   The left hand side – a full third of the desk – has been sequestered by my cat, Willie Nelson, who routinely stretches and switches off my wireless capability. With a desk like this, who wouldn’t be tempted to eek out a living by lounging here, lost in the intimacy of language and imagination?

Lately, more often than not, I’ve felt just plain lost. I Facebook, I YouTube, I stare at the squirrels jumping from limb to limb.  My little carnelian stones spin to strike the chimes, and I am reminded to be in the moment.

Impatience gets the better of me sometimes. For this, I recommend my method of  using the f-word and indulging in pleasure of the flesh. Maybe just a nip or two of something strong enough to remind me I’m not dead yet, even if it feels like it on the inside. In extreme cases I recommend bed wrestling with a naked partner.

I have lived long enough to know that despair is a menacing thing. It closes the door on the divine human spirit. So, although in my loneliness I get close to embracing despair, I know that there will always be a light on my path just when darkness is about to fully envelop my thoughts.

Today that light came in the form of an email message from my pal in Brazil. A mother-figure, healer, and spiritual mentor of mine for over 13 years, she sent off an email which started exactly the same way that my email to her was going to begin, “I don’t know why, but you have been on my mind the past few days”.

So often this happens with me, that I intuit my own need to connect with someone else’s. In this case, I had been so busy working that I hadn’t stopped to take time to email. You see, that’s the way it was meant to be. My reaching out yesterday would not have given me the gift of her email which needed to receive.

As I’ve been trudging through the themes and characters of my next book, it has become hysterically  clear that the protagonist’s character has been put upon with my own scheming philosophy of being. Poor darling. I think I shall give her at least one bad habit to take the edge off.

The email from my Canadian ex-pat friend in Brazil comes on the heels of last night’s writing, and weaves together perfectly with my own personal struggle to indulge my passion while paying the bills, as well as the main theme of my book.

The information in her email also happens to be the latch to the hook of my friend’s thesis.

The long and the short of it, my dear ones, is that life works its way out as you are willing to allow it.

Whether a day is good or full of potential and learning is totally up to you.

For now I’ll stick to my writing desk and my day job. I will resist the urge to pack  my bathing suit with the worn out ass  and my toothbrush into my ever-ready carry-on bag, and head to the airport for a one-way ticket to Anywhere Else.

It’s all coming together. I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and surrounding myself with people who are the same vintage of crazy as I am.

Go ahead, pour yourself another tumbler-full. After all, philosophizing is best done in the company of writers, alcohol and a wailing guitar.

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2014: The List

"It's kind of fun to do the impossible."  ~Walt Disney~
“It’s kind of fun to do the impossible.”
~Walt Disney~

Last year I had a total of three items on my 2013 To-Do-List.

Two of them were within my control, and I’ve checked those off. The third….let’s just say it’s a little more…it’s going to have to be an addendum to the 2014 list.

So far there are two items on my 2014 list, and the 2013 addendum of course. But I’m working on that one, making an effort to keep my mind and heart open to all possibilities.

Of the two items on the 2014 list, I will share only one of them with you my darlings. That’s right, it’s a lady’s prerogative to keep some things to herself and herself alone.

The number one item on my 2014 To-Do-List is to……(drum rolllllllll please!)….FUN.

Yes, this year I’m going to have more fun.

Yep. I know, I know. It seems like my life is one day of sunshine and rainbows after the next, but that’s not the case. 2013 saw its fair share of hard work, worries, and sleepless nights.

With a list of just two things and an addendum, I think I can manage a little more fun.

I’m not just talking about your run of the mill, go-to-the-fair-sing-at-the-top-of-your-lungs-in-the-shower kind of fun.

I’m talking about making the most of every moment and enjoying it. Having more fun at work, with my kiddo, while I tidy the house, and as I make my way through traffic every weekday morning. Now that will be a challenge.

I suppose the more intellectual folks our there may call it mindfulness, being in the moment or some such sophisticated spiritual way of being. I’m just going to call it “fun”.

This may take some later nights, a case of bubbles, and a sprucing up of my business suit inspired wardrobe, but I’m willing to do the work. Besides that darlings, laughter is sexy.

What’s on your list?

 

 

 

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And Then He Kissed Me – Again – No Kidding This Time

John Quinlan
John Quinlan (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The universe has a silly and cruel way of picking me up, putting me over its’ knee, and giving me a hard tap on the bottom whenever I think I know what to expect.

As deliciously seductive as that may sound, I like to think that I’m more mature than that darlings.

I like to think that having been around the block a time or two, I know every trick in the book. I like to think that, but I’m wrong, wrong, terribly wrong, when it comes to some matters of the heart.

If you read my last post, “And Then He Kissed Me”, you’ll know that I was giving some of you a bit of a tweak on the bottom to get up, out, and onto the next lucky lover.

Today, I walked right smack-dab into the middle of a grand spanking of consciousness.   The universe is trying to tell me something, and I don’t know what it is. Perhaps, as my friend Darleen thinks, it’s simply telling me to quit going to my favourite coffee shop. Thank you, Darleen for your pragmatism.

This morning, waiting for my half-sweet-whatever-was-brewing, I experienced  that eerie feeling of being watched. Looking up, who caught my eye? No, not some long-lost love my darlings.  It happened to be a-not-so-long-lost-I-don’t-know-what-to-call-him.

I wouldn’t call him a ‘fling’. It didn’t last long enough for that.  I wouldn’t call him a lover, although we do have some intimate knowledge of one another. I wouldn’t call him anything other than a brief blip on my man-radar. An entertaining little shenanigan which lasted one rather long Saturday , into the wee hours of the next morning.

I do seem to recall having nicknamed him,  “L’Enfant” when recounting our chance second meeting to my fabulous, but very married gal-pals.

You see, I met L’Enfant over a year ago while doing some writing on a snowy December evening.  I politely declined getting together due to our vast age difference (ok darlings, not so politely – I stood the poor kid up at the very last minute).

We met yet again this spring, and I thought it was more than just coincidence, so I consented to one simple day time get-together in a public place. You know, just to see if perhaps my kinky universe would reveal a greater purpose. It did not.

On the surface this charming young man was entertaining, inspiring, and a huge shot in the arm for my ego. But I know better than to indulge in something like that. There is always fallout, and inevitably, a small piece of jagged shrapnel gets imbedded deeply in my psyche and wiggles around, causing discomfort for years.

I took the encounter for what it was – a distraction from the mundane, and an experience to reinforce my idea that I shall no longer waste my time on men who do not hold the promise of something  absolutely delicious and sustainable.

So, today, as the barista finished making my whatever-you-want-to-call-it, I took a seat across from L’Enfant, and chatted with him about his work, the Syrian crisis, the new iPhone, and sports. That is all.

I wonder about meeting this little cutie-patootie for a third time by chance. I simply wonder.  If he were 10 years older I wouldn’t be sitting here typing about my curiosity. Instead, I would have found a way to be making unabashed, passionate love to this fellow under blankets by the river…..

Perhaps the universe is just feeding my imagination for a while, stirring hope, wonder and a bit of inspiration?

Time will tell my sweet little peaches. Time will tell….

 

 

 

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PMS & The Full Moon

English: Moon
English: Moon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Yes, that’s right darling, they go together like crackers and cheese, like peanut butter and chocolate, like bullets and guns.

It was a long week of colliding energy, which, my tender gooseberries, has inspired me to write a list of top annoyances, complete with accompanying rant.

Oh, don’t go all pseudo-spiritual on my bloated self. I do a damn fine job of being kind, polite and thoughtful every day. An accumulation of rudeness can tip even the most gracious lady over the edge. This week I had the pleasure of witnessing an abundance of bullshit doled out by folks that seem completely ignorant of sharing space and time with others.

With that in mind, I give you my list of PMS & Full Moon week annoyances;

1) The dude who cracked every single knuckle in all ten fingers during meditation. Followed by his neck, back, and tapping his fingers on the floor. Clearly he needs to relax, but next to me? In meditation? No. Go home and relax. Come back when you’re ready to respect the space.

2) That people think I’m a freaking charity. My week was filled with, “Will you’s, can you’s  and please do’s”. I don’t mind helping, but I got out of the business of martyrdom years ago. It’s an ugly way to go about life. How about get off your ass and help yourself? You’ll be shocked at how much you can accomplish when you stop playing the victim.

3) Cancelling dates…coffee dates, movie dates, times that you’ve asked me to set aside to help you, and you not being on time. Helloooo darling. Can you say annoying????

4) Public displays of  personal grievances. Really, you want me to be sympathetic to the same problem you’ve had with the same person for the past two decades? See #2. Take control of your own life and quit playing the victim.

5) Men who clearly don’t know the difference between their ass and a hole in the ground. This includes, friends, colleagues and potential love interests. My darling men (except my pal C.G.), don’t bother us if you’re all talk and no action, don’t say stupid things, and just be nice.

6) People who take things that don’t belong to them. Do I even need to go into how inappropriate this is? Yes, this includes pens, mugs, and food.

7) People who expect you to care about their days, emotions and concerns who do not extend the same courtesy back. Life is hard for all of us darling, and I have an address just like you.  After listening to a pal’s rant,  I began to talk about my day, her response was, ” I don’t have time to listen to this.” In other words, ” Thanks for being my emotional dumping ground. I’m not really your friend, I just need to feed off your energy”.  This is not reciprocal friendship, it’s free therapy. See #2.

I think that  finishes the PMS & Full Moon rant. I’m going to relax now, and hopefully feel more playful as the intensity of the week wanes to a sliver of memory.

Stay polite darlings, and be sure not to tolerate any of the above rudeness. You deserve better.

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Spirituality for Dummies

being a spiritual person

 

Bells went off when I read this. Every once in a while, I lose my cool, fall down, make a mistake, screw up…you get the picture. I used to berate myself for it, but now I just realize every time this happens, it’s an opportunity to learn.

If a relationship makes you angry all the time – get out. If your job makes you angry all the time – get out. If any situation, person or relationship brings out ugly qualities you try to hide, don’t just cover it up and move on.

Be with the discomfort. Be with your dark side. Learn that every emotion, even anger, fear, resentment and jealousy are part of what it means to be human. Take time to be with that messy stuff and learn from it.

Oh yes, you may also want to distance yourself from the people who turn you from beauty into beast.

Trust me, next time it will be easier, not last as long or cut so deep.

Being spiritual doesn’t mean attaining some bullshit ideal. It means being honest, real, emotional and raw.

Being spiritual equates to being fearless when it comes to holding a mirror up to your own expectations, and the reality that is your humanity in all it’s splendour, and with all of it’s scars.

Above all, being spiritual means trekking deep into the heart of your darkest emotions and confronting the demons.

So laugh, dance, kiss, make wild passionate love, throw out the odd f-word if you must. Be you. You’re perfect.