Tomorrow is a Beautiful Day!

“Your heart is a bloom. Shoots up through the Stony Ground. “ It’s a Beautiful Day – U2.

2013 has been the year of opportunity.

Opportunity to see who we really are in the face of change.

Opportunity to appreciate our metrics past present and wish list.

Opportunity to break down and break through old stories and value the subsequent pain for its true purpose.

Opportunity to sneak a peek behind the green curtain and marvel at the familiar naughty old wizard pulling the levers all along.

Opportunity to see ourselves in the faces of those around us expressing all the stuff we brain f*ck ourselves into believing we couldn't or shouldn't.

Opportunity to thank them for getting their hands dirty where we simply wouldn’t!

It’s been a year of hospitals and ambulances and discovering the depth of the human body’s ability to endure and to heal.

It’s been a year of THE wedding and THE engagement and THE celebration.

It’s been a year of passports stamping and airport collecting – arriving, departing, and returning.

It’s been a year of peeling back the ancient layers of a house and discovering its hidden beauty while uncovering hidden talents within ourselves in return.

It’s been a year of expanding and connecting into new faces and new communities and new projects with simple outstretched hands and the celebration and appreciation of the nature that surrounds us – even in a historic inner city pocket of the world.

It’s been a year to marvel at the audacity of the human spirit. J

As I stare into the face of a looming 2014, I wonder what delicious exploits await us next year?

How do you feel entering into a new cycle defined by the questionable structure of those seemingly separate from us?

What plans dance in your new year head?

What goals tease your Christmassed out pocket?

What dreams are ready to burst from your heart?

If 2013 were a bank balance what would the numbers be?

If 2013 were a blood test what would the results be?

If 2013 was a color, smell, taste and texture, what would it look like to you?

If 2013 were a marathon, where would you place?

For me I will review my metrics by completing The Metriculus™ again for myself to redefine my vision mission and purpose for the parameters of 2013 have shifted the foundations in significant unexpected ways. 

I wish you all a new year of taking action on the catalogues of endless possibility you have collected over the past few years.

I wish you the courage to step into unfamiliar territory flexing previously underused muscles as you adventure your way into uncharted waters.

I wish you a deep peace emerging from the depths of your soul as you move closer towards your goals inch by inch step by step knowing and trusting that you are on the right track.

Felice Anno Nuovo!!!!!

“And see the bird with a leaf in her mouth. After the flood all the colors came out. “It’s a Beautiful Day – U2.

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, 
With conquering limbs astride from land to land; 
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand 
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame 
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name 
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand 
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command 
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. 
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she 
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, 
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, 
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. 
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, 
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" 

—Emma Lazarus, 1883

Reclaiming Baggage

This is a dream I had last night. 

My Soul Mate and I were married. We were so very young – not more than 19, our hearts were filled with joy and possibility and our bodies were as firm and beautiful as our dreams. We lived on a beach resort and played around the lagoon each day watching the other guests paddle and swim about in the cool clear water. Moments were filled in ecstasy as we intermingled our bodies not just in passionate exchange but in every physical experience from eating to building to gardening to creating and expressing. The beauty and power of our bodies grew as we bathed in the sunshine each day and when we lay under the moon each night together, our bodies glowed silver and gold. It was as if the sun and moon nourished us in every passing moment crafting our bodies so lithe it became effortless to climb up power poles and glide along the wires and lines that framed the sky. We had become observers and happily spent each day together flying, climbing, watching and laughing. There was such comfort and safety being so up high together day in and day out. Time didn’t exist and neither did gravity. We floated into the sun and in turn each sunbeam fed the molecules of our bodies and charged their power to enable us to physically do almost anything we chose. 

The Shepherds Tree

I remember the last time I heard the wind whisper your name across the desert plain. 
The wind she blew you on adventure away from your sheep and away from me. 
So I wait for you. I wait until the sons of ISIS bring you back to me. 
While I wait my heart lies buried deep in a tomb somewhere neath the Valley of the Kings. 
And I sit under the Shepherds Tree, holding your staff, watching your flock. 
It shelters me, bark healing smooth grey knotted and scarred, it holds me tight while I wait. 

Justify

We can justify every single event in our lives by attributing cause and effect from various stories. No court in the world could pass judgment against the wealth of pain and suffering and perpetuated evil in the stories that human beings write, live and carry around with them as some sort of badge of honor. 


I wonder how many workshops, seminars, courses, books, religions, saviors and gurus it takes for one human being to simply say “I’m writing a new story. These old ones are done.” 

Writing the Parent Story

I wonder if in the physiology of a human, there isn’t a very large red button lying hidden somewhere – behind an ear or knee cap perhaps? Shiny, well polished, this button has been carefully honed and crafted and is poised ready for action. As if all the bio survival responses from childhood, behavioural patterns expertly fashioned and set so deep into the frequency of us that we don’t even know they exist, beliefs, values and identities that we wear as costumes in the theatre of our lives are all connected to this one shiny red button. For some people, pushing that red button may be like playing the pokies and winning a very loud jackpot that spews out in thousands of gold coins spilling over the edge of the fluro flashing machine onto the vomit green casino carpet below. For others, pushing that red button results in the detonation of a 1950’s nuclear bomb in a desert just near that casino, generating relentless gale force winds intent on a rampage of destruction.

The Cat

When I was 10, my brother and I would walk to and from school each day, up the hill and over to the main road, left around the corner until we arrived at a tiny little Catholic school. Half way up our street, on the corner opposite the entrance to the sporting fields was a small broken down cottage surrounded by overgrown shrubs and trees. It was rumoured that a witch lived inside and my brother would insist on crossing the street or running very quickly past as we approached it each morning and afternoon.

But I was captivated and tried to sneak a peak past the giant weeds and unloved hedges to see if I could catch a better glimpse. You see, a little old lady lived there – I imagined her to be at least 100 years old and with her, lived hundreds of cats. In truth, she was probably only about 65 with maybe 20 cats in tow however that house captured my imagination for the whole of my tenth year.

Today's Story

There's always a story behind the story isnt there?
There's always an agenda in the way the story is told or sold.
The more background information, the greater the microscope, mmmm, the more the "picture" clears.
Somehow insanity seems to be quite the popular effective human tool of choice isnt it?
Gets a great response and loads of attention!

I know - I have taken myself to the edge of insanity on purpose - written a great plot, developed truly hideous characters and delivered an impeccable performance. To observe the process one takes to get to this place is incredible!

Still Playing the Story Game

Self Analysis - my speciality - seems to be like stapling one foot to the floor and running in circles. ut who is to say that that very action of running in circles ISNT going anywhere. Maybe there isn’t anywhere to go?

Why do I have this need to argue?

A child burns her hand on a hot plate. This burns an imprint into their Bio Survival Brain circuitry and they AVOID touching that hot plate in future.

We are designed to be imprinted with sensory feedback mechanisms so sure we run away if we see a large black bear trying to eat us for breakfast.

Reformatting

In my ancestry, it seems there is a coat of arms. On this coat of arms are images of thousands of faces. They are all me.

Somehow doing this process - I have seen myself with a very large basket, collecting and retrieving parts of me that fractured and disintegrated.

I was thinking that disintegrating was a "bad" thing. But what if is it like de-fragmenting one's computer? All those parts of me will be continually recast so that all the recovered information is easy to understand and use.

Cut Thats A Warp!

I discovered something big!

My heart rate was up, my energy levels were high and my vision was clear and sharp.
My life was buzzing with people and places.

There was a project that I was putting together that included Sam and a group of kids his age. It “felt” similar to the creation of a major recording act for a global label: writing songs, choreographing, producing, arranging, styling, recruiting musicians, training crew and managing a whole host of people. But no - this wasn’t the music industry – it became more and more obvious that I was directing a blockbuster movie here!

Playing is the new Black

It's interesting observing the human identification process and suppressing my need to know.

This morning I saw how we all seek to identify ourselves through organisations. eg Demartini students at first identify themselves with the traits they are collapsing. How many times do you hear them/me/you/us say - I'll have to work on that" - "I'll have to collapse that."??? We identify ourselves with the positive or negative side of the trait. Instead of observing we identify.

Then those who choose to become facilitators, in their training, identify themselves with traits PLUS they identify themselves with being a Facilitator - and the infatuation/resentment cycle commences. Add to that, an identification with the Promoter, another Facilitator and Demartini himself.

Finishing The Story

"Raindrops stung like water balloons thrown from 12 storeys above. They bomb dived and smashed onto Mille's back as she ran for shelter under the line of oak trees that lined the edge of the valley that slid down the eastern side of her village.

Thunder cracked above her head and electricity in the air sizzled in her ears. The water from the nearby river was rising quickly pooling in the valley. She spied the distant old mill that towered high above the clouds on the other side of the oak forest.

Running wet and terrified climbing stone steps she caught her breath near the top of the mill tower as the rising flood waters swirled below her."

"High in a tower hiding behind an overhanging jagged rocked mountainside, in a small room at the very top, lived a young girl known as Mille. With no recollection of how long she had been there or how she was originally captured, Mille lived her days and nights quietly and without complaint. 

On The Line

There was some little story chasing me in regards to the Festival we just produced. Regardless of all my collapsing and observations, I can still smell the faint scent of "everything is on the line". Like a bottle of perfume you only use for special occasions, this story isn't running all the time - only for very special occasions when we have something to prove, something to show off, a milestone to achieve.
As much as I did detach myself from several old button pushers (yeah for me) the scientist within collected data and statistics that indicate more subtle and sneakier stories filtering in and driving actions.

Conversations with Millie

Its 6.30pm and the world is quietly unwinding its day as I sit on this hill overlooking a green picture book country side. The only sounds are the kookaburras chuckling at my childlike wonder as I sit deep in memory. One cow moos and I’m a child back on my grandparent’s farm.

I can almost see Millie, my grandma, sitting on the steps of the dilapidated old farm house perched on the hill opposite me. She dusts off her apron, bends to the side to pull a couple of weeds from her geranium patch under the steps and wipes the sweat off her brow as she plans her next job for the day. Its not just the mundane household chores of cooking, cleaning, washing, gardening and sewing – she rises at 3am to help her husband do the milking and is planning another of her many projects – always for the benefit of others – household, family, church, school or community. Her sister is visiting and she’ll clean up after dinner quickly so she can play games with Aggie – roaring with laughter while scheming to annihilate each other in scrabble and Chinese checkers strategy.

My Land of Plenty - well my first one at least :-)

I was first introduced to the work of William Whitecloud and The Magicians Way in 2008 when I met Adam Sowden, one of his then trainers. Adam invited me along to one of the preview events and I was thrilled to be able to participate in some of the weekend exercises.


The Land Of Plenty exercise was simply delicious and intoxicating and heaps of fun. I wanted to write it out and keep it and refer to it over the ensuing years to continue to remind myself of how much fun life planning and creative actualization can actually be. :-)

The Blue Book

Jenna was busily working at her desk that Monday morning when she received a call from one of her friends that his grandmother had passed. She had never met this woman or known this person for very long yet she found herself weeping in her office like she had lost a dear companion. Brushing away the tears, she saw an image of pale white hands, shaking, controlled, beautiful and holding onto glass rosary beads and grasping a faded blue book.

Winter in Brisbane

Late afternoons watching wet weather adds texture to any day. Standing in the rain, you can see the dark clouds over you, hear the patter on the earth, feel the drops sliding over your body and soaking your skin. There is a definite smell to athunder storm, an orange dusty tinge that floats into your nostrils, teasing them and sending it into your mouth and onto the back of your tongue.

It’s delicious!

Curling up in bed, these days of dark weather are a reminder of just how sunny Brisbane usually is – even in the dead of winter. Compare our weather to Europe and the UK or even New York and we realise our winter is almost the same as their spring. How good is this that we don’t have enough dark weather to ever feel oppressed by a gloomy day every so often? Today, a grey dull dreary winters day, the rain fell in large heavy drops that held the promise of spring inside revealing a pale light green glow upon the grass, and a shimmering glistening on the leaves of the soggy trees, as if they were bouncing back some of the summer sunshine they had absorbed in the months previous.

"The best thing one can do when it is raining is to let it rain" — Longfellow

Today, I walked outside for the first time in weeks to check the garden and the wind whipped around me teasing my hair and clothes. Like an electric charge, it was somehow reminding me of impending adventure, the life I had put on hold and how it was all still waiting for me.

I actually stood in the rain and squealed loudly and for the first time in ages, breathed easy.

Long Line of Perfectionists

I come from a long line of perfectionists. My grandmother was a Capricorn just like me and a perfect perfectionist. “Let a woman Do It” “A Place for everything and everything in its place.” “If I want anything done right, I’ll have to do it myself.” She held me firm to a higher standard in every aspect of life. She was the voice in my head, the pebble in my shoe and the flame, which inspired me to shine.

Perfectionists are interesting little critters. We perceive that something is missing and this void drives us to create solutions and systems to fix what’s wrong. Being a perfectionist is a fantasy and this fantasy is the very thing that drives most perfectionists to seek personal development in order to fix themselves and their lives. If not PD, they become software designers, business managers or lawyers. We are traditionally monoscoptic – we see only one side – kinda like a mono brow only much uglier.

The thing with Perfectionists is that our definition of order is what we can control and measure as we subordinate our value system to that of others for approval and love. Not only do WE need to see its perfection, but we need YOU to see it as well. Perfectionists don’t really get that the Law of Cause and Effect is determined by the speed of light. It is impossible to have an electro magnetic field without a positive and a negative. Perfectionists aren’t interested in the negative. We just want the good stuff.

Yet the human mind cannot have a one sided state. Anything that separates the inseparables is an illusion. Try cutting one end of a magnet off and what do you get? Both sides. The mind creates the owned and the disowned parts by the reflective consciousness and illness. So as much as we seek the perfect, the flawed continues to pop up in our little hologram that we have created.

My mother was perfect. A spectacular physical specimen, a beautiful goddess with not one hair out of place, with model control, to me she was a deity of quality with exemplary taste. To balance this mythological label, she was very messy, transformed dependence into an art form, grew needy and spiteful, and lived life through expressions of ugly.

My father was perfect. Intelligent, a corporate giant holding the respect of his professional peers, he was a financial master and authoritarian and a leader. The reality check to balance the god was that he had little education, was out of control, depressed, drunk bullying philanderer.

When I look at the balance of both of them I can see the perfect order and the love that drove them to both sides of the magnetic poles. To these two very flawed and simply wonderful individuals, a beautiful baby girl was born who was talented, intelligent, systematic and expressive with a pure heart that could see the beauty in everything. The side facing the sun showed an odd unfathomable child, clumsy, eccentric, argumentative, stubborn, unfashionable, and challenging and a real pain in the butt.

I chose my mythology. First I became the rescuer and protector for both my mother and my brother. In reality, my ego actually considered them both weak and needy and made a decision to rescue and protect myself so I wouldn’t be dependant on anyone like they were. The warrior princess forged a strong opposition for my father. I deferred to him as an authority figure, albeit one I resented infatuating him to be stronger and more powerful than I was. I made a pact with myself to be better than him so I could control my OWN existence without fighting him.

Remember this mythology is the stuff of fairy tales, legends and great myth. I have made all of this up. The perfectionist, the warrior, the light and shade are according to my perspective – whichever way I am facing the sun at the time. Just like our earth sleeps at different times, it only takes one turn and my day becomes my night.

I could visit each one of my breaths and show the balance of both sides playing happily together. We live in a reflective consciousness. To bring order, we see order. Every perceived void is a question. Every value is a perceived solution. Every event is neutral until evaluation. The lives we live provide the contrast we need to take the measurement.

From the age of twelve, I received a book about Nostradamus and so began my quest for answers to every question I had. To balance my opposition to my father, I willingly submitted myself to an external authority in books.

I detested the Catholic Church and the schools that I was sent to. My parents sent me to church alone from the age of five. I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t see this bearded old man float down from heaven and appear on stage behind the altar. I bribed kids at school to feed me details of the weekly sermon while I read a book around the corner from the church And went home one hour later dutifully quoting verbatim regurgitated details of the service.I was always in trouble from the nuns. I was always the kid that challenged them in Religious Instruction Lessons. Papal infallibility was a ridiculous notion to me and my incessant questioning found me invariably sitting outside the classroom more often than not. Yet to balance this I was the perfect little Catholic angel who played organ in the church every weekend. I sang in the choir and wrote songs for the liturgy.

I questioned the bible's every word yet I accepted the texts we studied in Ancient History. I created my own comparative studies of Religion and Mythology while at school and always accepted without question the mythological version.

I rejected all religion and belief systems yet I read controversial and myth shattering books and accepted them in abject faith.

I researched and critiqued Buddhism, Sufism, Rosicrucians, Freemasons and Wicca. My book shelves groaned under the weight of this obsession to know yet I didn’t’ find one bit of enlightenment.

I became a disciple of the Esoteric Sciences, Astrology, Tarot, Numerology, Kaballah, Crystals, and Chakras etc yet not one answer did I find – only more questions.

I rejected mainstream medicine and invested thousands of dollars in Alternative Medicines: Chinese, Ayurovedic, Naturopathy, Chiropractic, Massage, Kinesiology and Body Worx yet I still experienced disease and illness.

I didn’t know who the hell I was other than how others saw me. I was a just a child when I was first married yet I still felt so terribly alone. As a baby myself I began to have babies yet I still needed parenting and guidance. I couldn’t drown my questions by creating more people to distract myself with so I got divorced yet still stayed friends with my ex-husband. Therefore at a time when most of my friends were just starting work and travelling the world and stretching their wings, I was a mother and an ex wife. In case I missed the point, I then repeated this pattern. I got married AGAIN and still felt alone. I had MORE children and still needed parenting and guidance. I got divorced AGAIN and still stayed connected to my second ex-husband.

By the time my friends were beginning to get married and settle down and I had collected two ex husbands, four gorgeous children and several successful businesses – and a series of illnesses and disappointments. I had this fantasy of being a perfectionist yet to me my life looked more like a soapy Mexican sitcom. To others, my life was exciting, filled with adventure, certainty and greatness. Surrounded by so many people and activity, however, I felt alone, a failure and that I was missing in action with far more questions than answers.

One of my friends introduced me to Demartini and I went along, protecting my guru identity by attempting to maintain the illusion that I knew it all. I didn’t. I became enlightened and bombarded by my darkness at the same time. To challenge myself physically I went to Nepal and climbed the Himalayas yet failed to get to Base Camp suffering both Alititude and Attitude sickness. My mother stopped talking to me for three years yet my family and social relationships bloomed and deepened.

In 2002 I met the ONE – the love of my life. He was my perfect mirror. Our relationship was simultaneously beautiful, healthy, loving, positive yet ugly, damaging, limiting, negative and challenging. We saw the very best and the most horrid in each other. When I deleted him on Xmas Eve last year, I became the ONE instead and continued to experience exactly the same beautiful, healthy, loving, positive yet ugly, damaging, limiting, negative and challenge.

And all of this is perfect. There is nothing wrong with me or any of my experiences. There is nothing to change and nothing to fix. I didn’t fail; I have merely collected feedback for my own refinement process. Which mythology I choose to play with, I am perfect and totally f**ked up. All our identities and pros and cons are important spokes on the same wheel. One cup is half empty and one cup is half full. The Truth is that we are the cup. Each part of us is beneficial or detrimental depending on how we perceive the event. The perfection is acknowledgement of the order to all of this.

I form part of a long line of perfectionists. My daughter is a Capricorn just like me and a perfect perfectionist. She holds me firm to a higher standard in every aspect of life. She is the voice outside of my head, the pebble in my shoe and the flame, which inspires me to shine.

Vincent

I've been really feeling stuck for the past month. So stuck in fact that I havent been able to function in the business of my life as I usually can. The pattern in my life has been to suppress my STUCKEDNESS and just keep going as a responsible member of humanity is supposed to do right?

Well, during the month of May, it became impossible to continue to just keep going as per usual.

I didnt sleep. Sobbing occupied midnight to 6am. I avoided intimacy on every level. I experienced major panic attacks when my boys played rugby. I completely rejected one of my son's in my life. I worked day and night only going home to sleep. I avoided as many social activities as possible. Not only was I uninspired, however I couldnt even muster up any MOTIVATION to go to work at the office or do any sort of housework at home. In social situations that I dragged myself alone to, I became contraversial, obnoxious, drinking way too much and simply didnt bother with my usual nurturing of the group. I felt lost, alone and unloved.

All this time I worked with OTHERS to balance these very feelings. Yet my balance was lopsided.

I owned a house in the city - a very old heritage cottage which - yes - it is haunted. We moved our business into the top level - great location - heaps of space - a very funky office. The more time I spent there the more I noticed more activity with Vincent, our resident ghost energy. (the name just seemed to fit - no idea where it came from)The noises, scraping, scratching, banging and chilliness escalated and the business and the team began to experience unusual negative transformations.

A friend of mine who is a kinesiologist and a trained Hindu/Buddhist master gave his opinion about our experiences with Vincent. In his philosophy, Tibetans believed that in death, a soul trapped in between the dimensions is stuck in a state of flux. Perhaps when Vincent died he was infatuated and/or resentful and this kept him trapped and stuck in this energy field of flux - in this house - for whatever reason. Thoughts, (our logic), Feelings (our emotions) and Sensations (our physical body senses) hold vibration and frequency. Perhaps his fearkept him STUCK in between living and dead? Never having died, I have no clue - just making this stuff up!

As a certified facilitator in The Demartini Method®, I have been trained in how Infatuation and Resentment are powerful motivators, balancing each other and serving to cycle our behaviour. The Demartini Method® is designed to balance the charge of the infatuation/resentment, raise the vibration to an equilibrium and becoming light so I figured I would use the method on Vincent by surrogating myself with fascinating results.

Vincent was mirroring ME where I have been feeling stuck. This was actually all about me and Vincent was MY surrogate. So I used the TDM on myself and faced my own demons. It took me a while to do it, but when I embraced my own darkness in this house I no longer saw that it was dark and actually felt more of my own light and the power of THAT was overwhelming. I was SO afraid of my power and allowed myself to believe a mythology that was a lop sided perspective and only 50% correct. When I owned the space and gave Vincent the options of becoming light or flesh, I was actually opening myself up to my OWN options.

When the exercise was complete, I walked through the house and felt safe, light and at peace for the first time in my experience of it. For the first time I did not feel like anyone was watching me as I left the office.

The following morning, upon arrival, the office was in darkness a it had lost power during the night. Whether this had something to do with the rain or Vincent's energy transformation or MINE, I have no answer. However I "felt" different - Brave somehow, and peaceful.

Thanks Vincent for showing me where I felt "stuck"!