Archive for June, 2008

I dreamed of Pharaoh last night, and I know, at least in part, why.  Pharaoh was my black lab/goden retriever who is now buried in the back yard beneath a Sacred Heart rose bush and a weeping willow sprout.

Back in 2001, when I was getting divorced from husband number two who couldn’t stand animals, the kids and I decided that when we moved into our own apartment, we’d get one cat and one dog.  Their names came to us before they did.  We knew we’d name the cat Isis, the dog Pharaoh.  We knew they’d be rescues.

As soon as we’d settled into our new apartment, we went down to the animal shelter and asked for a list of all the animals that were due to be put down that day.  We went from cage to cage asking, “Are you Pharaoh?” Naturally, some of the dogs barked and yelped and panted… it’s like animals know when their time at the shelter is over and what’s coming.  Some of the dogs were terminally ill, some were badly wounded (as in missing an eye).  We wouldn’t have minded taking a “handicapped” dog, but the ones we saw weren’t “Pharaoh”.  We just knew.  I left the boys looking for dogs while Stinkerbelle and I went to visit the cats, following the same procedure, cage to cage: “Are you Isis?”

The boys came running to me in full-on excitement.  “We found him, Mom! We found him!”

I walked with the boys back to the dog kennel as they led me to Pharaoh’s cage.  On the cage, a sign written on a red, cut-out heart that said, “Huge heart.”  I looked into the cage, the dog looked back at me, and I asked, “Are you Pharaoh?”  The dog barked a “Yes”.  He was already an old guy, but had so much love left in him to give.  As we left the shelter with him, I said, “Pharaoh, come…” and he did.  I said, “Pharaoh, sit…” And he did.  He obediently answered every command I issued and did not require a leash.

Pharaoh lived with us in our apartment for seven months, during which time we’d suffered a major car accident.  My eldest son was badly wounded and was forced to home-school for the remainder of that school year (this was before we started homeschooling permanently).  Pharaoh stayed by that boy’s side and looked after him with vigilence.  He was our guardian, our guide, and our friend.

He loved car rides, which was wonderful, because we soon decided to move to Tulsa and took him along for the journey.  He loved Tulsa, with the exception of the abundant fleas and tick’s Tulsa offered.  However, in Tulsa, he had a major incident.  I woke one morning and found him convulsing, foaming at the mouth.  We rushed him to the emergency room to find out he’d had a spinal condition where his back bone was literally growing straight, fusing the vertabret together.  We were told to put him down.  We refused.  I looked up all sorts of holistic care for him, practiced massage on him, played him special music, used specific colored blankets for healing.  He never had another episode of convulsions, although his condition did worsen over time.

He moved back to Vegas with us when Tulsa turned out to be a nightmare, and from Vegas he moved with us to Kentucky.  Here is where he developed cancer and grew a tumor the size of a grapefruit on his tailbone. I nurtured him the best I could, cared for him with all my might, nursed him to the best of my ability… but when it was time, he told me.  We had to have him put down in December of 06.  As a family unit, we buried him in the back yard with his favorite chew toy, his favorite blanky, and a lil’ something from each of us to stay with him.

I’m sure that my mowing the lawn yesterday and visiting his grave had everything to do with me dreaming him last night.

Every once in a while, we “see” him, or we hear his bark.  We can feel the familiar way he nuzzled our knees when he wanted attention.  No doubt he remains with us.

Last night, while surfing through old blogs, I read the tales of his last days.  I blogged regularly then and recorded every detail of life.  It doesn’t surprise me, then, that I’d dream of him.  Usually, when I dream of him, he has messages for me.  In this dream, it was as if he knew a move was pending and was encouraging me to seek care for the other dogs.  I’d planned to anyway, but it’s nice to know Pharaoh is looking out for his k-9 buddies.  I also think he knows that his being buried here is one of the reasons I hesitate in moving, and he was letting me know he’d be with us no matter where we go.  But, knowing that the ex is buying the house makes leaving a little easier…

In my wallet, I still carry a lock of Pharaoh’s fur, his dog tag, and his photo.

Thanks for the visit, “Fair-Bear”.  It’s always good to see you, Buddy.


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Misterbooks tagged me:

Write a six-word memoir. Post it to your blog including a visual illustration if you would like. Link to the person who tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogsphere . Tag 5 more blogs with links . Don’t forget to leave a comment in the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

My Memoir:



Who I’m tagging:

Lady Catherine (Because I think you’ll find value in it)
Urban Panther (Because I’m challenging you to do it in FRENCH! – 6 French words, English translation)
Spatulahandle (Because your creativity has been flowing freely)
Kleo (Because I know you’ll come up with something cryptic)
Dean (Because you know how to say so much with so little!)

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Intro: If I checked my calendars and sources, I’d know which natural disaster was taking place when I wrote this… probably the tsunami.  I wrote this back in 2004, but it’s another that rings so true to the “Five of Cups” Tarot card I’d drawn this morning, and with the way I’ve been feeling lately.  Something about dipping into my past is calming in my present.

 “Night Fog”
December 30, 2004

There’s a fog rolling in
Through the mists of the waning night
Wanting to know what it is
I’m hiding from
And whether or not I’m aware
That hiding is impossible.

Days on end I sit here
Chasing my own tail
Fighting to keep the head above water
While leaning into the flow
Of life’s currents and current
Needs and desires.

Somewhere is air, but where?
I ask myself half heartedly
Knowing that I breathe just fine
And that I’m not as lost
As it feels like I am
In the moment.

Mysticism seems far away
Determination is taking a coffee break
Ambition has grown wrinkles
Monkey mind clashes his symbols
And I try to find the signs within
But all I want to do is close my eyes

And dream the dreams that will not come
For other dreams are in the way
Visions of broken yesterdays
And the slopes down which people
Cast their judgments upon me
And the tomorrows that may never come

Thousands upon thousands dead in a day
And the grim reeper is still taking roll call
But here I sit with the handy dandy laptop
In my baby blue running suit
At nearly three a.m. with no clue
About what it is I’m feeling

The answers aren’t in the ceiling
No matter how long it’s studied –
Because answers cannot come
To questions yet unformed
Or validated
As important in light of it all.

Purpose is a funny thing
To man’s simple mind
But Earth begs to differ
As she swallows man whole
Then spits him back out upon
The land’s disassembled core

What is the core
Of my problem? Where has my mind
Wandered off to in this late hour
Momentarily relenting
From the constant barage
Of intimindating inquiries of
“Well what are you gonna do now?”

There’s a fog rolling in
Through the mists of the waning night
Wanting to know what it is
I’m hiding from
And whether or not I’m aware
That hiding is impossible.

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Intro: Here’s another I’ve found that seems eerily right on time for resurfacing, especially in comparrison to my recent writings and the Tarot reading for June.  A simple night of quiet reflections brings this out of the poetic graveyard (Good Goddess, I forgot I ever wrote this!) and into the travel bag for the journey on The Road Home.

“What Is It?”
November 21, 2005


It’s a sense of accountability
Owning up to the power within
A sense of not giving up
Before you even begin

It’s not about keeping promises
But in knowing not to make them
It’s about learning to navigate through
Rather than creating mayhem

It’s about respecting self
Regardless of circumstance
Controlling the inner beast
So you can stand half a chance

It’s not in how well crafted
Apologies are delivered
But in being able to avoid their need
By having things pre-considered

It’s not about how hard you try
To make up from an argument
It’s in your determination
Not to rectify, but to prevent.

It’s not about how fiercely you fight
To control what you think you know
But in the willingness to accept
When it’s time for letting go.

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Intro: These are the peaceful moments I long for now… I found this tonight and I remembered the day. I don’t know why I didn’t give it a title, but since I didn’t give it one then, I won’t give it one now. I wrote this back in April of 2006 and just found it in an old blog I forgot I still had access to.

Front porch sitting
steel mug of coffee
watching tender flowers
recover from long journeys
and spring thunderstorms.

Thick ferns dangle like earrings
from the old, crooked, crickety porch
while bees and butterflies
flutter, flitter, and buzz
daring me not to flinch
or run, or do the bug dance

Nothing to fear
Nothing to hide
Nothing to force or fix
Nothing to control
Nothing to organize
Nothing to busy myself with

Take the moment.

Goddess breath combed my hair
while soft rains bathed my naked feet
and the crazy dog made his escape
to the farmer’s field
on the other side of the fence
to roll himself in cow pies.

Unused muscles stretch and bend
bow to the earth
sing nature’s enchantments
stirring to life
after a long (too long)

Sacred Heart rose
Planted on the Pharaoh’s grave
morning glory spread near the garage
weeds plucked and pulled
Dirt turned, and turned
until soft like powder

Admire the snail
hold the worm
smile at the frog
whose eyes are slanted
like that of an elf
and whose grin seemed knowing.

dirt under fingernails
dirt between toes
sweat dripping unchecked
in the valley of the chest
and from the brow, wiped by the forearm
as unused muscles stretch to life

Followed by more front porch sitting
with french-vanilla flavored coffee
while rain tattered pansies
demonstrate their resilliance
to life’s unexpected difficult storms
and complete upheavals.

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Part of the benefit of keeping a journal is not only the ability to express oneself in the moment, but to go back years later, in retrospect, to see where you were, how you got there, how you got out, and where you ended up in the long run.

Tonight, I’m apparently being pulled through time and space.  It’s funny – I’m always complaining that I don’t have any time to rest, relax, do things I enjoy, get to know myself… and here I have an evening uninterrupted and I had no freakin’ clue what to do with it!

I went and cleaned this morning.  I came home and took a nap with vivid dreams, which I recorded (for the first time in a long time). I mowed the lawn (go me!), read other blogs… and then felt myself sinking into this strange abyss of, “well, what now?”  The satellite has been temporarily disconnected (woops, me!), I’m not in the mood for book-reading, couldn’t play SIMS ’cause I accidentally left my c.d. case in T’s truck from the last road trip… and so it became a night of surfing through old stuff and trying to get to know myself a little better.  I can hear Alanis in my head:… “Why are you so petrified of silence? Here, can ya handle this? Did’jya think about your bills, your ex, your deadlines … or when ya think you’re gonna die… or did ya long for the next distraction?”

Nevertheless, in my walk down memory lane, I found a piece I’d written back in July of 2006 that pretty much summarizes exactly what I’ve been feeling here lately.  Only this time, in reading it, I grinned – thinking about those posts I’d just made about moon sign, rising sign, imbalanced chakras, odd number tests and other reflections of my personality.  When I wrote this, I thought it was healthy.  I thought I was “right”.  Today, in reading it, I see the Five of Cups that I drew as this morning’s Tarot card.  Coinsodence? Maybe… maybe not. Check it out:

Hiding in the Mists and Shadows
July 14, 2008

I haven’t been myself lately. Then again, maybe I’ve been more “myself” than I have in years past. In either case, life has been put on pause while I hide in the mists & shadows.

Perhaps it’s not hiding. I prefer to call it resting. Let’s define it as a retreat, not as in withdrawl, not a running away, but as a journey into self without the distractions of every day chaos and the dramas of reality.

The dramas of reality, that’s the real issue. Judgment, condemnation, harsh criticisms uninvited, misunderstandings, lack of acceptance, the need to prove oneself worthy or able.

Why should I be required (even by myself) to prove my worth to another? Why should I feel the need to justify myself, my actions, my choices, or my words?

Tired of justifying my words, I quit offering them. Tired of being disappointed by a general lack of understanding or support, I’ve learned to stop relying upon it, or worse yet, expecting it.

It’s not your praise I’m after.
It’s not your approval I seek.
It’s not your rules I abide by.
It’s not your authority I obey.

Mind slips into fogs of self doubt, insecurities, shame, feelings of failure – but why? Why does Monkey Mind have such a loud voice and strong presence when my gut and heart and soul are my guides?

Because Monkey Mind speaks through the mouths of the sleeping masses. People who think they know more about my life’s course than I do – people who feel they’ve achieved a higher level of enlightenment, or who have great insights bestowed upon them by their version of God, Goddess, or Divinity.

Of course, this could be karmic payback, eh? Maybe for all the years I felt I had it within me to save the world, share my wisdom, influence the minds of humanity… that egotistical yet innocent mindset of wanting to be “more” that I am now being held accountable for.

What is more? What is enough? What is acceptable? What is too much, what is “lacking”, whose opinion matters the most?

Should I sacrifice myself for the benefit of others? Should others sacrifice of themselves on my behalf? Or are we all just blindly searching for ways to be “more”?

More than what? More than whom?

More money. More fame. More power. More knowledge. More sex. More glory. More control. More respect. More freedom.

Now I am not searching for more. On the contrary, it is less that I seek – less input from others, less output from others, less involvement with others, comforted only by the mists and shadows of Self.

Does the world revolve differently since I’ve learned to lower my expectations, or since I’ve stopped wanting to be the hero?

I am tired of living apologetically. I am tired of feeling like I’ve always come “this close” only to fall short by “this much”. I’m tired of the search for validation. I am tired of the struggle for so called success. I am tired of pushing with all my might to get “there”.

It is not my desire to teach, but to learn – yet this doesn’t mean I desire to be taught.

I do not understand the hypocritical nature of humanity. Be better, but not better than me. Be more, but not more than me. Be beautiful, but not more beautiful than me. Be successful, but not more successful than me. Give to me, but do not ask or expect me to give to you… because I won’t.

I do not understand a world that will constantly “teach” one not to give up, while at the same time always trying to knock you down or break your spirit. Let me destroy you so I can be the one to rescue you.

Save your heroics. It’s not salvation I’m after. This I say to the world; this the world echoes back to me.

It’s all a matter of perspective – more or less, and I believe for the moment my perspective is best kept in the mists and shadows.

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Here’s another old post/test I found in a former blog that I felt worthy of saving here…


Here is the source for the test: http://www.eclecticenergies.com/enneagram/test.php

I’m not sure exactly what this test is, but it gives a numeric personality profile and a wing type, which I’ll explore below.


I’m type 3, “The Achiever”, with a 2 wing.

Type 3: Focused on the presentation of success, to attain validation

People of this personality type need to be validated in order to feel worthy; they pursue success and want to be admired. They are frequently hard working, competetive and are highly focused in the pursuit of their goals, whether their goal is to be the most successful salesman in the company or the “sexiest” woman in their social circle. They are often “self-made” and usually find some area in which they can excel and thus find the external approbation which they so desperately need. Threes are socially competent, often extroverted, and sometimes charismatic. They know how to present themselves, are self-confident, practical, and driven. Threes have a lot of energy and often seem to embody a kind of zest for life that others find contagious. They are good networkers who know how to rise through the ranks. But, while Threes do tend to succeed in whatever realm they focus their energies, they are often secretly afraid of being or becoming “losers.”

Threes can sometimes find intimacy difficult. Their need to be validated for their image often hides a deep sense of shame about who they really are, a shame they unconsciously fear will be unmasked if another gets too close. Threes are often generous and likable, but are difficult to really know. When unhealthy, their narcissism takes an ugly turn and they can become cold blooded and ruthless in the pursuit of their goals.

Because it is central to the type Three fixation to require external validation, Threes often, consciously and unconsciously, attempt to embody the image of success that is promoted by their culture. Threes get in trouble when they confuse true happiness, which depends on inner states, with the image of happiness which society has promoted. If a Three has a “good” job and an “attractive” mate, she might be willing, through an act of self-deception which is also self-betrayal, to ignore the inner promptings which tell her that neither her job, nor her mate are fulfilling her deeper needs. Even the most “successful” Threes, who generally appear quite happy, often hide a deeply felt sense of meaninglessness. The attainment of the image never quite satisfies.

Threes can sometimes mistype themselves when they mistake the more superficial features of their personalities as indicators of their type. So, for instance, an intellectual Three might mistype as a Five; a Three who is devoted to her role as mother might think she is a Two; a Three in a leadership position might mistype as an Eight and so on. Regardless of the manifestation however, the core of the type Three fixation is the deep need for external validation.


Enneagram Type 2 – The Helper
Helpers who need to be needed

People of this personality type essentially feel that they are worthy insofar as they are helpful to others. Love is their highest ideal. Selflessness is their duty. Giving to others is their reason for being. Involved, socially aware, usually extroverted, Twos are the type of people who remember everyone’s birthday and who go the extra mile to help out a co-worker, spouse or friend in need.

Twos are warm, emotional people who care a great deal about their personal relationships, devote an enormous amount of energy to them, and who expect to be appreciated for their efforts. They are practical people who thrive in the helping professions and who know how to make a home comfortable and inviting. Helping others makes Twos feel good about themselves; being needed makes them feel important; being selfless, makes Twos feel virtuous. Much of a Two’s self-image revolves around these issues, and any threat to that self-image is scarcely tolerated. Twos are thoroughly convinced of their selflessness, and it is true that they are frequently genuinely helpful and concerned about others. It is equally true, however, that Twos require appreciation; they need to be needed. Their love is not entirely without ulterior motive.

Twos often develop a sense of entitlement when it comes to the people closest to them. Because they have extended themselves for others, they begin to feel that gratitude is owed to them. They can become intrusive and demanding if their often unacknowledged emotional needs go unmet. They can be bossy and manipulative, feeling entirely justified in being so, because they “have earned the right” and their intentions are good. The darkest side of the type Two fixation appears when the Two begins to feel that they will never receive the love they deserve for all of their efforts. Under such circumstances, they can become hysterical, irrational and even abusive.

Because Twos are generally helping others meet their needs, they can forget to take care of their own. This can lead to physical burnout, emotional exhaustion and emotional volatility. Twos need to learn that they can only be of true service to others if they are healthy, balanced and centered in themselves.

Twos can mistype themselves if they are not in an obvious helper role in their professional lives; they might not recognize the extent of their involvement in assisting others. This is especially true for male Twos, who have not received the same social rewards for helping as female Twos receive. Male Twos frequently mistype as Ones or Threes, the wings of type Two. Females, of all types, are bound to recognize some of the dynamics of type Two in their personalities, as such qualities have been socially reinforced. Female Nines, for instance, are especially prone to mistyping as Twos, particularly if they are the mothers of small children. But Nines are self-effacing and humble; Twos are proud and have a strong sense of their own worth.

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