Inspired! – 11/05/16 #NaBloPoMo #CheerPeppers

The Invitation

By Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesnt interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

“This poem is an excerpt from the book, “The Invitation (1999)”, by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. Oriah is a spiritual counselor and story teller among other things. This poem offers an invitation to every single one of us to “show up” in the universe. She reminds us that we do not serve the universe by being small. Rather, we serve the universe by making the most out of our lives.”


How does this poem make you feel, dear readers? Do you find it inspiring? Does it make you want to ‘show up’? Let’s discuss it in comments.

Linking up with Nano Poblano



What Do You Wish For Those Who Offend You? 

Beautiful, inspiring and definitely needed.
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We keep saying and hearing the popular phrase, “Ifwisheswerehorses, beggarswouldberiders.” We usually assume that our wishes are mere thoughts with no effects if not backed with action. But what if we are wrong? What if our wishes (the bad ones) that we voiced out actually happened? Would we feel happy about the outcome?

I’m sure almost everyone is guilty of entertaining some bad wishes in their heads for the people who have offended us. We barely expect them to come true; but it does help us feel better to wish them ill for a while as if that would be an exact payback for the hurt they caused us.

They say revenge is a meal best served cold. And everyone on a revenge mission should dig two graves. No amount of revenge can fully fill in the grief…

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November Happenings

The last few months have been riddled with anxiety for me. I made the mistake of following the current political climate here in the US and it has worn me down mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Sorry for the graphics, but I feel like someone has skinned me and poured gasoline on my open wounds. Yes, it has been that bad. I desperately need some love, light, laughter and joy back in my life.

So, beginning tomorrow, for the entire month of November, I will be doing a spiritual reboot, which I am calling Inspired! This may come in the form of a video, cartoon, picture, poem, quote or an inspirational story that I discover somewhere on the web. It is my hopes that what inspires me, may inspire you as well.

I am also going to try to catch up with Calen’s Sandbox Writing Challenge. I am way way way behind, but hopefully if I do one challenge per day, I will eventually catch up.

So, those are my plans for November here on this blog. How about you, dear readers? Do you have any month long plans on your blogs? Anyone doing NaNoWriMo? I’d love to hear about your plans! Drop me a comment.

Thoughts on Being Worthy

I had a breakthrough this morning while watching Tony Robbins’ I’m Not Your Guru on Netflix (if you haven’t seen it, you should. Really, you should). Truthfully though, it was not the first time I’ve had this eye-opening experience, but I think this is the first time I’ve felt it deep in my heart and not just in my head. I’ve asked myself so many questions over my life related to my relationship with my mother, my siblings, my friends, my teachers in school, my other classmates, my partners and even my employers. Questions like, why did my mom almost always chose my siblings over me? Why did my creative writing teacher in high school tell me that I would never be a writer? Why don’t my friends choose to spend more time with me? For that matter, why don’t my own siblings want to spend time with me? Why did none of my partners ever want to really get to know who I am? Why did they always want me to be someone I wasn’t? Why even bother to be with me if I wasn’t their ideal companion? Why? Why? Why? And it all boils down to the very same question… Why am I not good enough?

In the film, Tony told the audience to close their eyes and think back to their earliest memory. I did so. I have two that stick out in my mind the most. The first is waking up during the tonsillectomy when I was about five years old. I’d had Reye’s Syndrome* and as a result, I went into a coma. For whatever reason, my tonsils were shot and had to be removed. I remember waking up and feeling the intense pain and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth and crying out. Then I was put back under so the surgery could be completed. The next memory that I have is related to that experience. I was lying on the couch in the living room, eating either jello or ice cream because my throat was sore from the surgery, and I heard my parents arguing about me. I remember being upset and crying because I didn’t know what I had done that made them fight. I still don’t remember what they were fighting about, just that they kept saying my name and they were shouting back and forth in the kitchen.

So my two earliest memories are both traumatic memories. And I think that early memory of my parents fighting about me left the impressions on me that I had done something horrible, or that I was a burden, and definitely that there was something wrong with me that disqualified me as being worthy in everyone’s eyes. I grew up with the feeling that I was the sickly child that needed to be guarded and protected, but also kept at arms’ length – meaning that if I was shown too much love or affection, then perhaps I would become sick again and possibly die this time. I mainly got that impression from my mother. The running theme was not to let me get too excited or exhausted because I could have a relapse. That’s what the doctors told my parents. I am not sure though that the doctors meant for that to go on until I was ten to twelve years old (I cannot recall exactly when my parents stopped being overly protective of me as my memory is very fuzzy now about that time of my life). I wasn’t allowed to play hard or help mom in the kitchen with dinner. Instead, I was told to go sit down with my dad. So I felt abandoned by mom because she pushed me off on my dad. With dad, if he was watching television, which he usually was, I had to be quiet until commercials came on and only then could I talk and ask questions about whatever we happened to be watching – generally football, baseball or a western. Sometimes my questions would get answered, but not always, and of course, commercials only lasted less than three minutes, so a lot of my questions went unanswered or rushed through. Eventually, I just stopped asking questions. With my mom, if I did go to her for advice, I generally got stories about her horrible childhood and that I should be thankful that I don’t have her childhood and to just suck it up, or at least that is how it felt. So I stopped asking her for advice or even telling her anything about my life.

I guess what I am getting at here is… I learned early on that I was not good enough. Not good enough because I wasn’t a healthy child. Not good enough to play with my siblings or cousins. Not good enough to help my mom cook. Not good enough to get my questions answered or be given advice. Not a good enough writer. Not the perfect mate or lover. Not a good enough friend. Just not good enough, period. And those early messages stuck with me my entire life. As a result, I have become guarded, introspective, withdrawn, suspicious, doubtful, and self-sabotaging. I will jump into things with all the passion in the world, and then wait for the proverbial shoe to drop – someone will think I am not good enough and if it is not someone else, eventually I will think it of myself. That gnawing doubt always lingered – What if I really am not good enough?

I am now 50 years old and for the past 45 years of my life, I have lived with the pain of not being enough. This pain has prevented me from building solid relationships, friendships, life goals and job opportunities. It has made me feel like a phony, imperfect, and unlovable. It has driven me to the brink of suicide too many times to count. And it has fueled depression for the majority of my life. I don’t accept praise because I don’t believe people are sincere. I don’t trust people because I am scared I won’t live up to their expectations. I don’t seek attention because I am scared people will discover that I am really not good enough. Worst of all, I wallow in self-pity.

Tony Robbins would tell me to fucking get over myself. To stop believing the story I’ve been telling myself all my life. That if I am going to blame everyone (including myself) for this pain, to also blame them for the good things about my life. He would tell me to list those good things. To believe in them. But most importantly, he would tell me that I AM GOOD ENOUGH.

So what is this incredible breakthrough that I had this morning? I need to stop “thinking” and start being and doing. I know I’ve been told this many times before from friends and therapists. I’ve even told myself this. So what makes me think this time will make a difference? Because for once in my life, I am going to start listening to my heart and not my fucking head. I am going to begin living a heart-centered life. If I want love, peace, joy, acceptance, involvement, and success in my endeavors, I won’t find any of that by living in my head and letting my mind tell me the same old repeated lies it has for decades. Only by listening to my heart and believing in myself can I begin to live the life I truly deserve. Because I really am Worthy. Thank you for the reminder, Tony Robbins.

*Reye’s Syndrome is a serious disease resulting from a fever treated by aspirin. For more information, please visit the National Reye’s Syndrome Foundation website.

The Sandbox Writing Challenge #44 — Lighting Up Your World

Another catch-up post, this time for June 21st. Calen has given me a lot to consider with this question:

light-bulb-technology-and-business-by-prophotostock-d7114sxWhat inspires you?

These days, I can’t seem to find inspiration anywhere. It takes me hours to even write journal posts here or in my paper journal. My mind is just too foggy. I have no light-bulb moments, no sparks, no ah-has. The creative side of me is just silent. A deafening silence. When you are accustomed to hearing three distinctive voices in your head giving you inspiration and then they are silenced through medication, it’s almost like being deaf and blind. Everything I do hear or see is bland, dull, monotone. Not even my glorious mountains inspire me these days. Instead of writing or drawing all day, every day, I spend my time binging on Netflix, but even watching my favorite scifi shows doesn’t spark anything within me. I no longer watch as a writer, but now merely to entertain my fogged mind. I keep being assured that this brain-drain won’t be permanent, but I remember how long it took me the last time this happened to recover, and recovery only came once I stopped the medication. I was medicated for 5 years and it took nearly two years un-medicated to get back to my true creative self. So as I struggle with my dilemma of whether to remain medicated or not, I guess I will go back to my deafening silence as I am mentally exhausted just from these two short posts I’ve written tonight.