June 1 is an important date to me. On June 1, 1992 my best friend, who had flown from San Francisco to Delaware where I was living, and I loaded all my worldly possessions into a U-Haul and drove it from Newark, Delaware to San Francisco, California where I would live for the next 4 years and 1 day, literally. On June 1, 1996 I watched a moving van pull away from my East Bay apartment again loaded with all my worldly possessions and this time I drove alone cross-country again this time headed for a friend's house in Maryland about 50 miles from Baltimore where I would live for the next 7 years. I actually left on June 2 for that return trip because the final apartment clean-up took a little longer than expected, accounting for the extra day.
The 1992 trip was very Thelma and Louise (that movie was only a year old at that time) although in our version no one died or took a header into the Grand Canyon. It was a good time spent with a good - a very good - friend and some parts of it still live on in my memory as fresh as they were 18 years ago. The ensuing 4 years were 4 of the most important in my life, especially as my development as a psychic are concerned.
The 1996 trip was good too even though I did that one alone. I bought a cell phone, then called a mobile phone, at Sears in California. It was the size of child's shoe box and cost $325 and all it did was make and receive phone calls. It had a charger twice its size and I would take it into the hotel room every night and charge it so I would have it the next day, just in case. I returned it to a Sears in Maryland, slightly used but none the worse for the wear, and got all my money back, except for the few usage charges. Ahh...now that was a long time ago.
One of my favorite memories from that trip is a rainy afternoon spent in a diner in Iowa. I'd parked my car in front of a large plate glass window where my California license plate was visible. It was mid-afternoon, between the lunch and dinner crowds. The waitresses had been talking farm talk. Iowa is farm country and the only good parts of my horribly dysfunctional childhood had been spent on my grandparents' farm so I knew farm talk. June is planting season and the talk center on fathers and husbands planting various crops. It felt like home. One of the waitresses noticed my license plate and asked where I was going. I told her Maryland and she let out a longing sigh. "Charlie won't even let me drive to Des Moines alone," she told me. She was too old to still be under the watchful eye of a father so I assumed Charlie was her husband. Des Moines was less than 50 miles from the diner. To her it could have been New York City. She envied me my freedom and I envied her her Charlie who wouldn't let her go to the big city alone. Life is a trade off. We make our choices and live with our consequences.
In June of 2004 my friend from California was in a horrific accident in Montana. She and her husband were hospitalized in Montana and didn't return home to California until the following October, and even then it was by helicopter. She spent the next several years enduring several surgeries to save her leg which, I am happy to report, was eventually saved. Today she is on her way to Milwaukee to see her dying father.
I am recovering slowly from a broken shoulder and wouldn't have the nerve to drive cross country alone again. Although I'm really, really glad I did it the one time with my best friend and the other time alone.
Life is a trade off and a process. We make our choices and we live with our consequences, our failures, our triumphs and our memories...
Monday, May 31, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Not "LOST" Anymore
OK, I admit I was a "Lost" fan. Sort of. I watched faithfully for the first couple of seasons. I was cool with the flash backs and tried very hard to follow the plot line most of the time failing, but I watched anyway. About season three the producers promised answers but I just got more confused. When they started with the flash forwards they lost (pun intended) me. But I would still watch when I could hoping to figure at least some of it out. So of course I had to watch the grand finale seeking some answers but mostly closure. And I got it.
First, let me say I think the producers were brilliant. And if they ever need alternate careers they could probably be great politicians as they proved for 6 years to be very adept at answering questions while never answering a question. (That's a compliment in this context, by the way, for the producers.) They showed their skills again in the finale which is evident in all the online buzz in the aftermath as the "Lostie's" - and I do NOT count myself in that category - mull over what the ending meant.
So for what it's worth, for anyone who cares - and I'm not offended if you don't - here's my perspective on it from my somewhat unusual perspective.
All the characters were karmically connected before they got on the plane. When it crashed they all died except Jack and Vincent (the dog). The entire series was a jumbled hallucination on Jack's part before he died which he finally did with Vincent at his side, just the way the show started 6 years ago. They all waited for him to join them so they could go into the light together. So why were some characters who hadn't been on the plane or died in the series in the church waiting too? Because, as Jack's father explained, "we all die sometime". (Besides, some of them got a day off from their new roles on FlashForward.)
If you've read this far you must be wondering why on earth I am bothering with this blog entry. Well, I have to tell you because I had a good laugh at myself at the simplicity of it all and how obvious it was from the beginning, and I of all people, couldn't figure it out. Of course they all died in a crash in the middle of the ocean - DUH! Of course, they spent some time wandering through purgatory or whatever until they worked out their issues. And since linear time as we know it is only an illusion, time is different and doesn't matter over there.
Certainly there are people out there who would disagree with me and I invite you to. I was neither a writer nor a producer on the show so I don't know for sure this is what they had in mind but it's the way I see it.
There are a few things I think most of us would agree on. Josh Holloway is hot. Naveen Andrews is also hot. And Matthew Fox (hot again) absolutely deserves an Emmy for his physically challenging and emotionally demanding performance in this last and everlasting episode.
My only question now is, what's going to become of Vincent?
First, let me say I think the producers were brilliant. And if they ever need alternate careers they could probably be great politicians as they proved for 6 years to be very adept at answering questions while never answering a question. (That's a compliment in this context, by the way, for the producers.) They showed their skills again in the finale which is evident in all the online buzz in the aftermath as the "Lostie's" - and I do NOT count myself in that category - mull over what the ending meant.
So for what it's worth, for anyone who cares - and I'm not offended if you don't - here's my perspective on it from my somewhat unusual perspective.
All the characters were karmically connected before they got on the plane. When it crashed they all died except Jack and Vincent (the dog). The entire series was a jumbled hallucination on Jack's part before he died which he finally did with Vincent at his side, just the way the show started 6 years ago. They all waited for him to join them so they could go into the light together. So why were some characters who hadn't been on the plane or died in the series in the church waiting too? Because, as Jack's father explained, "we all die sometime". (Besides, some of them got a day off from their new roles on FlashForward.)
If you've read this far you must be wondering why on earth I am bothering with this blog entry. Well, I have to tell you because I had a good laugh at myself at the simplicity of it all and how obvious it was from the beginning, and I of all people, couldn't figure it out. Of course they all died in a crash in the middle of the ocean - DUH! Of course, they spent some time wandering through purgatory or whatever until they worked out their issues. And since linear time as we know it is only an illusion, time is different and doesn't matter over there.
Certainly there are people out there who would disagree with me and I invite you to. I was neither a writer nor a producer on the show so I don't know for sure this is what they had in mind but it's the way I see it.
There are a few things I think most of us would agree on. Josh Holloway is hot. Naveen Andrews is also hot. And Matthew Fox (hot again) absolutely deserves an Emmy for his physically challenging and emotionally demanding performance in this last and everlasting episode.
My only question now is, what's going to become of Vincent?
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Old Friends, New Friends Still Equal Good Friends
One of the most surprising aspects of this period of injury, dependence, and convalescence is how many old friends didn't come through for me and how many new friends did. I must admit I did (read sometimes still do) feel disappointed and betrayed by some of the old friends that didn't come through for me.
But then I suspend wallowing in what coulda-shoulda-woulda-been and realize how grateful I am for the new friends that did. Some are friends I knew before my accident and have simply stopped by to visit and others are friends I didn't even know before this happened and who came into my life as hired help, literally, and have become invaluable people to me.
An old friend (not in the category of above mentioned old friends) reminded me recently that I once told her sometimes people are lost to us because they have served their purpose and moved on to someone who needs them more now. I don't remember saying that but it certainly sounds and feels like something I would say. And I believe that's true.
People move on for lots of reasons. Distance sometimes weakens bonds, karmic purposes are fulfilled, people grow in different directions, the list could go on and on.
When I was 11 years old my parents hired a houskeeper who lived with us 4 days out of the week. She was also to serve as my surrogate mother since my own mother preferred her typewritter by day and Whiskey Sours by night. Her name was Dorothy White and as far as I know she died early in 1984 - a long time ago - in Cleveland, Ohio. If by some chance this blog ever makes its way to any of her family please, please, please contact me. Dorothy was heaven sent to me and was my savior in my teenage years. I don't think I would have survived my family had it not been for her. She told me once that it was unlikely I would make more real friends in my life than I could count on one hand. I know what she was saying. She was talking about the life-long, live-or-die, bail you out of jail, type of friends. And she was right. Those friends come along only a few times in a lifetime.
But the other ones, the ones that pass through for a year or so or even less, well they matter too. Because they have served their purpose and moved on to someone who now needs them more. These lost friends should not be mourned. We need to offer thanks for them and be grateful for them. For they were there when we needed them and we have now outgrown our need for them and released them (whether we realize it or not) to move on.
And that's the way it works. People pass through our lives for a variety of reasons. I suspect most of the time we don't know the real reasons they are there. Life is an ever evolving process and the people that flow into and out of our lives are part of that process. To honor these friends is to honor the life process, by first letting them in and then letting them go.
But then I suspend wallowing in what coulda-shoulda-woulda-been and realize how grateful I am for the new friends that did. Some are friends I knew before my accident and have simply stopped by to visit and others are friends I didn't even know before this happened and who came into my life as hired help, literally, and have become invaluable people to me.
An old friend (not in the category of above mentioned old friends) reminded me recently that I once told her sometimes people are lost to us because they have served their purpose and moved on to someone who needs them more now. I don't remember saying that but it certainly sounds and feels like something I would say. And I believe that's true.
People move on for lots of reasons. Distance sometimes weakens bonds, karmic purposes are fulfilled, people grow in different directions, the list could go on and on.
When I was 11 years old my parents hired a houskeeper who lived with us 4 days out of the week. She was also to serve as my surrogate mother since my own mother preferred her typewritter by day and Whiskey Sours by night. Her name was Dorothy White and as far as I know she died early in 1984 - a long time ago - in Cleveland, Ohio. If by some chance this blog ever makes its way to any of her family please, please, please contact me. Dorothy was heaven sent to me and was my savior in my teenage years. I don't think I would have survived my family had it not been for her. She told me once that it was unlikely I would make more real friends in my life than I could count on one hand. I know what she was saying. She was talking about the life-long, live-or-die, bail you out of jail, type of friends. And she was right. Those friends come along only a few times in a lifetime.
But the other ones, the ones that pass through for a year or so or even less, well they matter too. Because they have served their purpose and moved on to someone who now needs them more. These lost friends should not be mourned. We need to offer thanks for them and be grateful for them. For they were there when we needed them and we have now outgrown our need for them and released them (whether we realize it or not) to move on.
And that's the way it works. People pass through our lives for a variety of reasons. I suspect most of the time we don't know the real reasons they are there. Life is an ever evolving process and the people that flow into and out of our lives are part of that process. To honor these friends is to honor the life process, by first letting them in and then letting them go.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Keepin' On Rollin' On
This morning I went out with arm in sling and walking with my cane for balance to pick up my Sunday paper, which was not there. Either the News & Record had failed to deliver it or one of my neighbors had absconded with it on their way to church. Okay, that was unnecessarily cynical so I'll retract that remark. Anyway, it was early, around 7:30 a.m. and I heard a sound behind me. I turned to see a large German Shepherd, alone, on the other side of the street. Despite having owned a German Shepherd 30+ years ago (my ex's idea) I am generally afraid of dogs, especially large dogs and especially ones unaccompanied by a responsible adult. We caught each other's eyes at the same moment and it took me about a second and a half to see he had his (or her - not sure) front left leg newly and expertly bandaged all the way up and secured around his waist. We assessed each other instantly determining neither was a threat to the other and shared a moment of mutual commiseration over our individual plights. If either of us had been able-bodied we might well have crossed the street to greet each other but simultaneously we decided that was too much work and he turned and hobbled, 3-legged, down the street. I admired his - or her -tenacity.
I came back into the house, made a cup of tea, and because I didn't have a newspaper to read I opened my new copy of AARP magazine to an article entitled, "Rock Icons Roll On". The article details how the rockers of my generation - Billy Joel, Tina Turner, Sir Elton John, Springsteen, and many, many more are still hot acts. Sure there are new kids on the block, Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber (who??? - only kidding I know who he is), and tons more and of course there always will be because time marches on and the young eventually get old whether we/they want to or not. (Unless your last name is Cullen but that's a different story.)
The point is not to dwell on it. We have to cope with it, deal with it, and then keep on rollin' on.
I flash to thoughts of my ex-husband of 30 years valiantly battling cancer for nearly a year now with a determination and tenacity I don't believe I would have in me in a similar situation. For years I thought myself the stronger one, the better one, for reasons unnecessary to go into here. Now for the first time in over 30 years I'm not so sure. Because with the odds stacked so highly against him he is keepin' on rollin' on. That takes guts and energy and strength, especially when chemo is draining every ounce of energy out of you.
So here's to you, Gene. Remember this one? "Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine, I never understood a single word he said but I helped him a-drink his wine, and he always had some mighty fine wine."
So to all of you out there battling whatever your individual battles and challenges are, I say to you - keep on rollin' on ...
I came back into the house, made a cup of tea, and because I didn't have a newspaper to read I opened my new copy of AARP magazine to an article entitled, "Rock Icons Roll On". The article details how the rockers of my generation - Billy Joel, Tina Turner, Sir Elton John, Springsteen, and many, many more are still hot acts. Sure there are new kids on the block, Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber (who??? - only kidding I know who he is), and tons more and of course there always will be because time marches on and the young eventually get old whether we/they want to or not. (Unless your last name is Cullen but that's a different story.)
The point is not to dwell on it. We have to cope with it, deal with it, and then keep on rollin' on.
I flash to thoughts of my ex-husband of 30 years valiantly battling cancer for nearly a year now with a determination and tenacity I don't believe I would have in me in a similar situation. For years I thought myself the stronger one, the better one, for reasons unnecessary to go into here. Now for the first time in over 30 years I'm not so sure. Because with the odds stacked so highly against him he is keepin' on rollin' on. That takes guts and energy and strength, especially when chemo is draining every ounce of energy out of you.
So here's to you, Gene. Remember this one? "Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine, I never understood a single word he said but I helped him a-drink his wine, and he always had some mighty fine wine."
So to all of you out there battling whatever your individual battles and challenges are, I say to you - keep on rollin' on ...
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Maybe this is the time, the place, and the way...
About 12 years ago I got the idea to write a memoir. I know a little bit about writing as I had written the great American novel in the mid-90's, loosely based on a particular time in my life. Twelve publishers agreed it was like the first waffle - it should be thrown out. I couldn't bear to actually do that so it is packed away in a dark corner of a rarely used closet where on rare occasion it calls to me. (I ignore it.) I also put it on a computer disk (remember them?) but I think the disk might have gotten corrupted. And before, anyone asks - no - you can't read it. The publishers were right and I realize now it was more of a personal cathartic exercise for me than a story that needed to be told to the world.
Anyway, the idea of a memoir stayed with me along with the abject rejection I felt from the publishers. I have started it a few times and have several chapter drafts, and once in the late 90's joined a writing group where I made two very good friends - Laura and Karen where are you now? After awhile we broke off from the writing group and formed our own and had a good time getting together but eventually I moved to another state. Anyway, I digress...
So along came the internet and self-publishing and eventually blogging. Over the past year or so clients and some folks who come to my public events have started to say they would like to hear "my story". While I find this surprising on some level (I mean...me?...really?) I also think mine is to some extent a story of survival and eventually thrival - ok, thrival's not really a word but you get my jist and that's called poetic license. And because part of the problem I have with writing is that there is a structure or format that has to be followed and that structure seems to get in the way of my thought process or stream of consciousness and thwart my creative process, so maybe blogging my memoir is the way to go. Besides I no longer expect to be the next Harper Lee.
The title has always been and would be "Witchy Woman" and it would be the story of how I evolved from being an unwanted child in whom few if any saw any value to a psychic medium who, on occasion, brings insight, comfort, and closure and feelings of value and worth to those who need it. I have come to learn my life's goal is to leave this world a little better than it was when I came into it and, whenever possible, ease a little pain along the way. Perhaps not a very lofty goal but it's all I got.
I am open to opinions on this (unless you happen to be a naysayer publisher) so anyone who wants to post a comment on this idea is welcome to.
It is now dawn, my favorite time of day, and a time I rarely get to see since I am essentially a nite owl (not a compatible mix) - perhaps I was really meant to be a never-sleeping-Forks, Washington-dwelling-vampire, some of you will get that. So I'm going to go get a cup of tea, enjoy the dawn.
Anyway, the idea of a memoir stayed with me along with the abject rejection I felt from the publishers. I have started it a few times and have several chapter drafts, and once in the late 90's joined a writing group where I made two very good friends - Laura and Karen where are you now? After awhile we broke off from the writing group and formed our own and had a good time getting together but eventually I moved to another state. Anyway, I digress...
So along came the internet and self-publishing and eventually blogging. Over the past year or so clients and some folks who come to my public events have started to say they would like to hear "my story". While I find this surprising on some level (I mean...me?...really?) I also think mine is to some extent a story of survival and eventually thrival - ok, thrival's not really a word but you get my jist and that's called poetic license. And because part of the problem I have with writing is that there is a structure or format that has to be followed and that structure seems to get in the way of my thought process or stream of consciousness and thwart my creative process, so maybe blogging my memoir is the way to go. Besides I no longer expect to be the next Harper Lee.
The title has always been and would be "Witchy Woman" and it would be the story of how I evolved from being an unwanted child in whom few if any saw any value to a psychic medium who, on occasion, brings insight, comfort, and closure and feelings of value and worth to those who need it. I have come to learn my life's goal is to leave this world a little better than it was when I came into it and, whenever possible, ease a little pain along the way. Perhaps not a very lofty goal but it's all I got.
I am open to opinions on this (unless you happen to be a naysayer publisher) so anyone who wants to post a comment on this idea is welcome to.
It is now dawn, my favorite time of day, and a time I rarely get to see since I am essentially a nite owl (not a compatible mix) - perhaps I was really meant to be a never-sleeping-Forks, Washington-dwelling-vampire, some of you will get that. So I'm going to go get a cup of tea, enjoy the dawn.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Channeling Event Update
Hi all -
No deep insights with this post. I just want to let you know that I did find it necessary to cancel the event scheduled for this weekend. The next event is planned for June 26, 2010 at Eclectic By Nature www.eclecticbynature.com and you can find more information about it there or on my website at www.kathemartin.com . Namaste to all!
No deep insights with this post. I just want to let you know that I did find it necessary to cancel the event scheduled for this weekend. The next event is planned for June 26, 2010 at Eclectic By Nature www.eclecticbynature.com and you can find more information about it there or on my website at www.kathemartin.com . Namaste to all!
It's a quarter after three, I'm NOT a little drunk and I need you now...
OK, so that's not very original but I do love that song by Lady Antebellum. For those of you that don't know, the song is called "Need You Now" and the lyric is "It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now," and she is singing about missing a former lover and contemplating calling him.
I do love the song but I can assure you I am not contemplating calling a former lover. I know this because I have never ever really been in love. Now don't go getting all puppy-dog-eyed sad over that or feeling sorry for me cuz I don't feel sorry for myself but I do wonder what it would be like.
Now I did of course have a few boyfriends back in the day (and a husband once for a few years a loooong time ago) and I managed to convince myself at the time that I loved some of them but I know now it was never for real. And I have a couple of great kids, an excellent daughter-in-law who sacrificed much to take care of me especially during the first 2 weeks of my injury, and several super-duper grandkids so I know I am loved.
But I've never had that experience of first falling and then being in love with someone who feels the same way about me. And I have to admit I wonder what it would feel like. I also give some thought to why I haven't had it. As a child and young adult I believed it was because I
didn't deserve it. This belief came from my former family (that's what I call my birth family) who did a pretty good job of convincing me I was a bad accident that came along to screw up their lives (everyone but my maternal grandmother and a very special aunt made me feel that way). Again, put away those sad puppy-dog-eyes.
In recent years I have come to believe one of my goals in this life is to learn about love and sometimes we learn best by observing. Y'know, how you can't see the forest for the trees sort of thing. Because I have found that I love to watch love. It doesn't matter if it's in a movie, a commercial, or real life, but real life is definitely best. And it doesn't have to be the dewey-eyed, lusting-after-each-other love struck young folks kind of love either. It can be as simple as watching a man automatically taking the hand of a woman as they walk across a parking lot, or a mom wiping a smudge of chocolate from her child's face. A few weeks ago (pre-broken shoulder) I was in the grocery store and noticed a man, probably a 30-something dad, shopping with his young eight-year-old-or-so Down's Syndrome son. (Many of you know I have a soft spot for people with Down's Syndrome and if you don't I direct you to the story on my website (www.kathemartin.com) The boy was asking questions about some items in the store and general grocery store etiquette questions. The dad was answering the questions thoroughly and patiently which, under normal circumstances would have been more appropriate coming from a four year old. But, of course, they were normal for this young boy. The dad never talked down to his son and always gave clear, direct, honest answers. It was such a display of love I actually followed them for a few aisles until I got concerned I might get tagged as a stalker so I backed off.
Today we so often have the bad stuff thown in our faces, pictures of car bombings, starving children, bickering politicians, people shooting each other and on-and-on-and-on... instead, I urge you to look for love. Because it is out there and it is out there every day every where you go if only you will look for it. It can be like a rainbow - big and bright and right in front of your face but if you're not looking for it you can miss it.
The Tao Te Ching says, (loosely translated) "Individuals should know themselves well. If they are meant for love, they will know." I know I am not (and once again - no puppy-dog-eyes). But dang, once in awhile it would be nice to have someone who would be willing to run out and bring me a Chick-fil-a vanilla milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top!
Love to you all - go look for it!
Kathe
I do love the song but I can assure you I am not contemplating calling a former lover. I know this because I have never ever really been in love. Now don't go getting all puppy-dog-eyed sad over that or feeling sorry for me cuz I don't feel sorry for myself but I do wonder what it would be like.
Now I did of course have a few boyfriends back in the day (and a husband once for a few years a loooong time ago) and I managed to convince myself at the time that I loved some of them but I know now it was never for real. And I have a couple of great kids, an excellent daughter-in-law who sacrificed much to take care of me especially during the first 2 weeks of my injury, and several super-duper grandkids so I know I am loved.
But I've never had that experience of first falling and then being in love with someone who feels the same way about me. And I have to admit I wonder what it would feel like. I also give some thought to why I haven't had it. As a child and young adult I believed it was because I
didn't deserve it. This belief came from my former family (that's what I call my birth family) who did a pretty good job of convincing me I was a bad accident that came along to screw up their lives (everyone but my maternal grandmother and a very special aunt made me feel that way). Again, put away those sad puppy-dog-eyes.
In recent years I have come to believe one of my goals in this life is to learn about love and sometimes we learn best by observing. Y'know, how you can't see the forest for the trees sort of thing. Because I have found that I love to watch love. It doesn't matter if it's in a movie, a commercial, or real life, but real life is definitely best. And it doesn't have to be the dewey-eyed, lusting-after-each-other love struck young folks kind of love either. It can be as simple as watching a man automatically taking the hand of a woman as they walk across a parking lot, or a mom wiping a smudge of chocolate from her child's face. A few weeks ago (pre-broken shoulder) I was in the grocery store and noticed a man, probably a 30-something dad, shopping with his young eight-year-old-or-so Down's Syndrome son. (Many of you know I have a soft spot for people with Down's Syndrome and if you don't I direct you to the story on my website (www.kathemartin.com) The boy was asking questions about some items in the store and general grocery store etiquette questions. The dad was answering the questions thoroughly and patiently which, under normal circumstances would have been more appropriate coming from a four year old. But, of course, they were normal for this young boy. The dad never talked down to his son and always gave clear, direct, honest answers. It was such a display of love I actually followed them for a few aisles until I got concerned I might get tagged as a stalker so I backed off.
Today we so often have the bad stuff thown in our faces, pictures of car bombings, starving children, bickering politicians, people shooting each other and on-and-on-and-on... instead, I urge you to look for love. Because it is out there and it is out there every day every where you go if only you will look for it. It can be like a rainbow - big and bright and right in front of your face but if you're not looking for it you can miss it.
The Tao Te Ching says, (loosely translated) "Individuals should know themselves well. If they are meant for love, they will know." I know I am not (and once again - no puppy-dog-eyes). But dang, once in awhile it would be nice to have someone who would be willing to run out and bring me a Chick-fil-a vanilla milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top!
Love to you all - go look for it!
Kathe
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Lucky
Alice Sebold, author of The Lovely Bones, wrote another book prior to The Lovely Bones called Lucky. It's a memoir recounting her brutal rape when she was a college student. The title came from the police telling her she'd been "lucky" because another girl had been murdered and dismembered in the same location where she had been raped. Albert Einstein taught us all things are relative (y'know that theory of relativity thing) so I guess in that context she was "lucky".
I don't know if I'm ready yet to consider incurring a broken shoulder lucky but it has afforded me time to think about a lot of stuff from my life and what I'm supposed to be doing with it, to who my friends are (now that's been a real eye opener!) to who exactly thought screw off caps were a good idea, cuz I can tell you they ain't so easy to open one-handed.
I've worked very hard in my life not to be judgemental. Frankly, that's a real challenge for me. I've never had much of a problem not judging people on the inane stuff most humans fight about like skin color or cultural origins or sexual orientation or whose God is better. Quite honestly that stuff just pisses me off because it's such a waste of time. It's like judging the quality of the Thanksgiving dinner based on the color of the table cloth. Ridiculous.
Where I get hung up is when people fail to help each other when they can and choose not to. T.B. Macaulay once said, "The measure of a man's real character is what he would do if he knew he would never be found out." When we do things for others because we believe someone else will see and think us, therefore, to be a good person or to have done a good thing, I don't think it counts toward our karma brownie points. In fact, it may do just the opposite. But when we do something just because we believe it to be the right thing or to help someone just because we can then I think that is the measure of true integrity.
My broken shoulder has afforded me the opportunity to observe high levels of integrity in people I would have previously thought devoid of any. And therefore it has helped me to ease up on myself and others when I find myself feeling judgemental. So maybe in that context my broken shoulder has been a little bit "lucky".
I don't know if I'm ready yet to consider incurring a broken shoulder lucky but it has afforded me time to think about a lot of stuff from my life and what I'm supposed to be doing with it, to who my friends are (now that's been a real eye opener!) to who exactly thought screw off caps were a good idea, cuz I can tell you they ain't so easy to open one-handed.
I've worked very hard in my life not to be judgemental. Frankly, that's a real challenge for me. I've never had much of a problem not judging people on the inane stuff most humans fight about like skin color or cultural origins or sexual orientation or whose God is better. Quite honestly that stuff just pisses me off because it's such a waste of time. It's like judging the quality of the Thanksgiving dinner based on the color of the table cloth. Ridiculous.
Where I get hung up is when people fail to help each other when they can and choose not to. T.B. Macaulay once said, "The measure of a man's real character is what he would do if he knew he would never be found out." When we do things for others because we believe someone else will see and think us, therefore, to be a good person or to have done a good thing, I don't think it counts toward our karma brownie points. In fact, it may do just the opposite. But when we do something just because we believe it to be the right thing or to help someone just because we can then I think that is the measure of true integrity.
My broken shoulder has afforded me the opportunity to observe high levels of integrity in people I would have previously thought devoid of any. And therefore it has helped me to ease up on myself and others when I find myself feeling judgemental. So maybe in that context my broken shoulder has been a little bit "lucky".
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Pre-Death Communications
The combo of Valium and Hydrocodone the docs have me on has afforded me the experience of what Jimmy Hendrix once famously called the "Purple Haze". Wooo hooo! So I slept most of the day and now it looks like I'll be up much of the night.
I spend a lot of time engaging in and pondering afterlife communications. With my ex-husband's critical illness progressing (tho he is still fighting a valiant fight for which I have the utmost respect) I have recently been giving thought to the importance of pre-death communications.
More than once clients have told me they can't wait for a mother, father, brother, etc., anyone with whom they've had a painful relationship, to die. I've come to realize this is because they believe that with the death will come release from the pain of the relationship. I felt this way myself when my own mother, who had very little interest in me, died when I was 17 years old. I am here to tell you from personal and professional experience, it just doesn't work that way. What you do lose, however, is forever having the opportunity to resolve that relationship in this physical lifetime. And more than once I have received a call just hours after the long-awaited death has occured from a distraugh client saying, "Oh my God, I can't believe he-she-whoever, is gone."
I hope you never find yourself in that position. So in an efffort to help you never find yourself in that position I am going to tell you a story I've told to a few clients and my daughter this week.
My father was a self-made business man with only a high school education who came of age in the Depression era of the 1930's. He had several businesses all under the name of Lyons & Co. (Lyons was my maiden name). I have often said my parents had one child and one child only and its name was Lyons & Co. Although he made a lot of money his health failed rapidly after my mother died in 1966 and when he died in 1984 he died a bitter, emotionally and financially broken, and lonely man. He had forced me out of his life years before focusing his attentions on Lyons & Co.
In May 1984 he needed major surgery and I was a full-time, working, single mom who had no time, money or - frankly interest - in going to see him in a state about 400 miles away. I didn't have a good feeling about the surgery (and I wasn't a practicing psychic then) but the last time I talked to him the day before the surgery I told him I loved him. There was a long pause before he responded, "I love you, too." He suvived the initial surgery but died 4 days later.
To this day, 26 years later, I still can't tell you if I meant it when I said it, but I can tell you I've never regretted saying it.
Just something for you to think about before you lose a once in a lifetime opportunity, forever.
I spend a lot of time engaging in and pondering afterlife communications. With my ex-husband's critical illness progressing (tho he is still fighting a valiant fight for which I have the utmost respect) I have recently been giving thought to the importance of pre-death communications.
More than once clients have told me they can't wait for a mother, father, brother, etc., anyone with whom they've had a painful relationship, to die. I've come to realize this is because they believe that with the death will come release from the pain of the relationship. I felt this way myself when my own mother, who had very little interest in me, died when I was 17 years old. I am here to tell you from personal and professional experience, it just doesn't work that way. What you do lose, however, is forever having the opportunity to resolve that relationship in this physical lifetime. And more than once I have received a call just hours after the long-awaited death has occured from a distraugh client saying, "Oh my God, I can't believe he-she-whoever, is gone."
I hope you never find yourself in that position. So in an efffort to help you never find yourself in that position I am going to tell you a story I've told to a few clients and my daughter this week.
My father was a self-made business man with only a high school education who came of age in the Depression era of the 1930's. He had several businesses all under the name of Lyons & Co. (Lyons was my maiden name). I have often said my parents had one child and one child only and its name was Lyons & Co. Although he made a lot of money his health failed rapidly after my mother died in 1966 and when he died in 1984 he died a bitter, emotionally and financially broken, and lonely man. He had forced me out of his life years before focusing his attentions on Lyons & Co.
In May 1984 he needed major surgery and I was a full-time, working, single mom who had no time, money or - frankly interest - in going to see him in a state about 400 miles away. I didn't have a good feeling about the surgery (and I wasn't a practicing psychic then) but the last time I talked to him the day before the surgery I told him I loved him. There was a long pause before he responded, "I love you, too." He suvived the initial surgery but died 4 days later.
To this day, 26 years later, I still can't tell you if I meant it when I said it, but I can tell you I've never regretted saying it.
Just something for you to think about before you lose a once in a lifetime opportunity, forever.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
4:00 a.m. thoughts on forgiveness...
I have been offline line for nearly a week due to some technical difficulties but I'm back now. I heard a line on a TV show recently, "Nothing good happens after 2:00 a.m." but I think that more applies to decisions to spend the night with a stranger or empty out your savings at the ATM. I usually wake up around 4:00-5:00 a.m. to go to the bathroom. This can be more attributed to a 61 year old bladder than a broken shoulder. I usually can go right back to sleep but these days the pain meds wear off about that time and it's not time for new ones yet, so I start to think. And sometimes that's more dangerous than emptying out the ATM at 2:00 a.m.
I got married in July 1971. Although the decision to do this wasn't a post 2:00 a.m. decision most indications would be that it was a bad one. It was an unhappy union, frequently abusive both mentally and emotionally and eventually devolved into a physically abusive one. I am going to spare you the gory details but I will tell you it involved a concussion on one occasion, at least two broken bones, guns on more than one occasion, and at one point being restrained and held hostage for several hours. Nuff said bout that.
It was a long, long time ago, I survived it and the marriage produced my two terrific kids both now grown and who have produced six grandchildren who are the light of my life.
I got divorced in July 1980 and my ex got remarried the same month to a woman who, God bless her for many reasons, he is still married to today. We'd been separated for two years before the divorce.
Time marches on. People grow, change, learn and move on and in general learn one way or another how to deal what life dishes out to them.
In July 2009 my ex was diagnosed with brain, lung, and liver cancer. Over the past nine months he has endured all the suffering that accompanies radiation and chemo therapies and a few side dishes like flesh eating bacterial infections to boot. This is where you might be tempted to think, "He deserves it", and this is where I say to you, not so fast.
My years of psychic work and learning about spirituality (as opposed to religion - big diff and the subject for a later post) have taught me a few things. First, we are all just a compilation of our own wounds and we are searching for a way to heal them. He didn't abuse me because he wanted to but because it was how he thought (erroneously) he could alleviate some of his pain, whatever that was and wherever that came from, and make himself feel better. Of course, it didn't work and he is responsible for his actions and has to answer for them in some place and time, somewhere, somehow, someday, in this world or another. While some think he owes me an apology, and maybe he does, the greater lesson here is to learn to forgive ourselves. So many times in trying to save ourselves or heal our wounds we try to do it by hurting or overpowering others. And that just doesn't work. What we do instead is create more pain for ourselves and often others and create for ourselves more karma.
I have a friend who thinks I should be nominated for sainthood for my ability to forgive him. (Well, maybe not sainthood, but something like that.) I have struggled with the essence of "forgiveness" for many years. Growing up Catholic I was taught you can do just about anything, go to confession on Saturday, say a few Hail Mary's in repentence, go to communion on Sunday, and start the whole process over again on Monday and St. Peter will welcome you with open arms when it's your turn to show up at the pearly gates.
I don't think it's that easy. I think we are all truly held accountable for what we do or don't do and I think there is a difference between forgiveness and absolution. It's easy for the priest to absolve you of your sins. All he does is assign a few minutes of homework of saying a few prayers. True forgiveness comes from within when we forgive ourselves and others.
In truth I was as much at fault for marrying my ex as he was for marrying me. I was just looking for anyone to love me because that had been so lacking in my life and he was looking for the same in a very different manner.
It is possible to forgive someone, meaning understanding why they did something to you, without condoning their actions. Giving absolution does not have to mean giving permission to them to do it again or saying it was okay in the first place. It just means you are letting go (some would say, letting God) and moving on.
Yesterday I learned the docs have started talking to my ex about hospice options. He has and still is fighting a better fight than I think I could if I was in his shoes. Heck, I whine about typing one-handed with one wing clipped and held up in a sling.
If any of this makes sense to you or resonates with a situation you may have then I ask that you offer a little prayer or whatever your preferred method is for him as he continues his journey on this difficult path that we will all find ourselves on in some way, someday.
It's now 6:30 a.m. and time for more pain meds (yeah!), almost time for the Today Show and breakfast. I wish a good day to you all.
Namaste,
Kathe
I got married in July 1971. Although the decision to do this wasn't a post 2:00 a.m. decision most indications would be that it was a bad one. It was an unhappy union, frequently abusive both mentally and emotionally and eventually devolved into a physically abusive one. I am going to spare you the gory details but I will tell you it involved a concussion on one occasion, at least two broken bones, guns on more than one occasion, and at one point being restrained and held hostage for several hours. Nuff said bout that.
It was a long, long time ago, I survived it and the marriage produced my two terrific kids both now grown and who have produced six grandchildren who are the light of my life.
I got divorced in July 1980 and my ex got remarried the same month to a woman who, God bless her for many reasons, he is still married to today. We'd been separated for two years before the divorce.
Time marches on. People grow, change, learn and move on and in general learn one way or another how to deal what life dishes out to them.
In July 2009 my ex was diagnosed with brain, lung, and liver cancer. Over the past nine months he has endured all the suffering that accompanies radiation and chemo therapies and a few side dishes like flesh eating bacterial infections to boot. This is where you might be tempted to think, "He deserves it", and this is where I say to you, not so fast.
My years of psychic work and learning about spirituality (as opposed to religion - big diff and the subject for a later post) have taught me a few things. First, we are all just a compilation of our own wounds and we are searching for a way to heal them. He didn't abuse me because he wanted to but because it was how he thought (erroneously) he could alleviate some of his pain, whatever that was and wherever that came from, and make himself feel better. Of course, it didn't work and he is responsible for his actions and has to answer for them in some place and time, somewhere, somehow, someday, in this world or another. While some think he owes me an apology, and maybe he does, the greater lesson here is to learn to forgive ourselves. So many times in trying to save ourselves or heal our wounds we try to do it by hurting or overpowering others. And that just doesn't work. What we do instead is create more pain for ourselves and often others and create for ourselves more karma.
I have a friend who thinks I should be nominated for sainthood for my ability to forgive him. (Well, maybe not sainthood, but something like that.) I have struggled with the essence of "forgiveness" for many years. Growing up Catholic I was taught you can do just about anything, go to confession on Saturday, say a few Hail Mary's in repentence, go to communion on Sunday, and start the whole process over again on Monday and St. Peter will welcome you with open arms when it's your turn to show up at the pearly gates.
I don't think it's that easy. I think we are all truly held accountable for what we do or don't do and I think there is a difference between forgiveness and absolution. It's easy for the priest to absolve you of your sins. All he does is assign a few minutes of homework of saying a few prayers. True forgiveness comes from within when we forgive ourselves and others.
In truth I was as much at fault for marrying my ex as he was for marrying me. I was just looking for anyone to love me because that had been so lacking in my life and he was looking for the same in a very different manner.
It is possible to forgive someone, meaning understanding why they did something to you, without condoning their actions. Giving absolution does not have to mean giving permission to them to do it again or saying it was okay in the first place. It just means you are letting go (some would say, letting God) and moving on.
Yesterday I learned the docs have started talking to my ex about hospice options. He has and still is fighting a better fight than I think I could if I was in his shoes. Heck, I whine about typing one-handed with one wing clipped and held up in a sling.
If any of this makes sense to you or resonates with a situation you may have then I ask that you offer a little prayer or whatever your preferred method is for him as he continues his journey on this difficult path that we will all find ourselves on in some way, someday.
It's now 6:30 a.m. and time for more pain meds (yeah!), almost time for the Today Show and breakfast. I wish a good day to you all.
Namaste,
Kathe
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Things I Thought I Knew
This title was suggested by my 14 yr old grandson for the blog title. I thought psychicsensibilities was cuter but I'm beginning to think he was right so I'm titling this post for him. Thanks, Chandler.
People will surprise you. I should know that at my age and in my line of work. I guess the Universe thought I needed a reminder.
Sometimes the people that appear the hardest on the outside are just protecting a big, loving heart on the inside. And sometimes, unfortunately, they are really that hard - but not always. For now I'm focusing on the former. And sometimes the people that talk the big loving-the-world talk are doing that - just talking, and hiding a heart the size of a pea on the inside. No offense meant to peas.
Many, many thanks to all those who have called and sent emails, texts, and cards wishing me well, sending healing and offering help. Some of you have surpised me and some of you have humbled me, but all of you have made me realize how fortunate I am to know you.
Blessings to you all,
Kathe
People will surprise you. I should know that at my age and in my line of work. I guess the Universe thought I needed a reminder.
Sometimes the people that appear the hardest on the outside are just protecting a big, loving heart on the inside. And sometimes, unfortunately, they are really that hard - but not always. For now I'm focusing on the former. And sometimes the people that talk the big loving-the-world talk are doing that - just talking, and hiding a heart the size of a pea on the inside. No offense meant to peas.
Many, many thanks to all those who have called and sent emails, texts, and cards wishing me well, sending healing and offering help. Some of you have surpised me and some of you have humbled me, but all of you have made me realize how fortunate I am to know you.
Blessings to you all,
Kathe
Monday, April 19, 2010
April 19, 2010
GOOD NEWS!!!! The CT scan showed I probably don't need surgery! That means recovery should be shorter. A big,big,big,big thank you to everyone who sent prayers and healing thoughts and good energy and please keep 'em coming. It ain't over yet but there is light on the horizon.
So what's all this mean? I heard Oprah say once that God sends us what we need to heal and I believe that. That's why children of alcoholics either grow up and become one or marry one. Which, by the way, I did. As a child of highly functional alcoholics I married one, and then divorced him. My intention here is not to rank on him. He's currently battling lung, liver, and brain cancer with more courage and tenacity than I think I could muster and I pray for him everyday. If you feel moved to do that too please do so.
But being born into a family that neither planned, wanted, nor welcomed me I incurred some lifelong trust issues, to put it mildly. I have been fiercely independent most of my life mainly because the people I looked to for support or help in my early life quite simply let me down and said,"no" even if all I asked for was a hug. As I have gotten older the thing I fear most is having to ask for help (a request which has historically been denied) or needing support (which usually didn't come). So here I sit typing in my son and daughter-in-law's bed, waiting for them to come home and cook for me, depending on my daughter or daughter-in-law to wash my hair, do my laundry, put on my socks, etc., etc., etc., and needing my son to drive to my house 20 miles away to feed my animals once a day (like he doesn't have enough to do already with a big job and 2 kids).
So, yup, Spirit sends us what we need to heal. I hope maybe that insight helps you in some way in your life.
BTW - here's a correction from the last post. I have been told the dog does NOT lick her privates at 3:00 a.m. - she is licking her leg. OK. It still sounds like a cat yackin' up a furball.
A new insight - I really like drinking out of bendy straws. They're fun. :o)
So what's all this mean? I heard Oprah say once that God sends us what we need to heal and I believe that. That's why children of alcoholics either grow up and become one or marry one. Which, by the way, I did. As a child of highly functional alcoholics I married one, and then divorced him. My intention here is not to rank on him. He's currently battling lung, liver, and brain cancer with more courage and tenacity than I think I could muster and I pray for him everyday. If you feel moved to do that too please do so.
But being born into a family that neither planned, wanted, nor welcomed me I incurred some lifelong trust issues, to put it mildly. I have been fiercely independent most of my life mainly because the people I looked to for support or help in my early life quite simply let me down and said,"no" even if all I asked for was a hug. As I have gotten older the thing I fear most is having to ask for help (a request which has historically been denied) or needing support (which usually didn't come). So here I sit typing in my son and daughter-in-law's bed, waiting for them to come home and cook for me, depending on my daughter or daughter-in-law to wash my hair, do my laundry, put on my socks, etc., etc., etc., and needing my son to drive to my house 20 miles away to feed my animals once a day (like he doesn't have enough to do already with a big job and 2 kids).
So, yup, Spirit sends us what we need to heal. I hope maybe that insight helps you in some way in your life.
BTW - here's a correction from the last post. I have been told the dog does NOT lick her privates at 3:00 a.m. - she is licking her leg. OK. It still sounds like a cat yackin' up a furball.
A new insight - I really like drinking out of bendy straws. They're fun. :o)
Sunday, April 18, 2010
April 18, 2010
Greeting earthlings and non-earthlings!
Welcome to my virgin post! I am new to this medium so please bear with me as I learn my way.
First, the reason for my venturing into this realm which I have until now found to be curiously self-indulgent and, well, slightly socially disturbing. On April 10, 2010 I fell at home and broke my left shoulder. This is particularly bad luck (if you believe in luck) since I'm lefthanded. So I'm typing one-handed with my right hand. Not so bad so far, eh? Technically, I've broken my arm, the humerus bone, in 2 places at the shoulder. BTW the humerus bone doesn't have a sense of humor. It does have a pretty good sense of pain though. I am currently awaiting test results to see if there is additional injury which would require surgery.
After a few days of panic because I'm fiercely independent (usually) and self-pity (which just bummed everyone out, including me) I decided to explore how this experience could have been designed by Spirit to teach me something. So I decided to start practicing what I preach, or at least try to. And then I thought since so many people have started asking me over the last year "what my story is" maybe some of you would like to take this journey with me. Maybe, we'll see...
BTW - I promise not to bore you with banal details like when I brush my teeth (like who cares?? except maybe my dentist) or when I change my socks - which I can't do for myself right now anyway. The good news is in the last 2 days I have been able to change my own underwear which is an improvement and makes everyone happy!
So here's what I've learned so far. My daughter-in-law is a very good cook. I like to read before bed and I read everything from Quantum Physics as it pertains to psychic ability to the Twilight saga - blame my daughter-in-law for that and Go Team Edward! But none of it beats having my 6 year old granddaughter read anything to me. And the sound of the family dog licking her private parts at 3:00 a.m. is the same sound as a cat hacking up a furball. Maybe the spiritual insights will come later. I hope you stay tuned ...
Welcome to my virgin post! I am new to this medium so please bear with me as I learn my way.
First, the reason for my venturing into this realm which I have until now found to be curiously self-indulgent and, well, slightly socially disturbing. On April 10, 2010 I fell at home and broke my left shoulder. This is particularly bad luck (if you believe in luck) since I'm lefthanded. So I'm typing one-handed with my right hand. Not so bad so far, eh? Technically, I've broken my arm, the humerus bone, in 2 places at the shoulder. BTW the humerus bone doesn't have a sense of humor. It does have a pretty good sense of pain though. I am currently awaiting test results to see if there is additional injury which would require surgery.
After a few days of panic because I'm fiercely independent (usually) and self-pity (which just bummed everyone out, including me) I decided to explore how this experience could have been designed by Spirit to teach me something. So I decided to start practicing what I preach, or at least try to. And then I thought since so many people have started asking me over the last year "what my story is" maybe some of you would like to take this journey with me. Maybe, we'll see...
BTW - I promise not to bore you with banal details like when I brush my teeth (like who cares?? except maybe my dentist) or when I change my socks - which I can't do for myself right now anyway. The good news is in the last 2 days I have been able to change my own underwear which is an improvement and makes everyone happy!
So here's what I've learned so far. My daughter-in-law is a very good cook. I like to read before bed and I read everything from Quantum Physics as it pertains to psychic ability to the Twilight saga - blame my daughter-in-law for that and Go Team Edward! But none of it beats having my 6 year old granddaughter read anything to me. And the sound of the family dog licking her private parts at 3:00 a.m. is the same sound as a cat hacking up a furball. Maybe the spiritual insights will come later. I hope you stay tuned ...
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