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And it was a strange one.  I spent way more time than usual this morning with my own thoughts, but it felt good to sink into myself and nestle there for a while.  The dream I’d had spawned quite a bit of reflection and introspection – thoughts on love, defining love, confusing love, giving and receiving love.  Those thoughts stuck with me throughout the day as I questioned my own understanding of the perplexing emotion, and the experiences I’ve had with it to date.  If I’m to be perfectly honest with myself, even though I’ve been married (more than once), been in several long term relationships, and went through the motions thinking that what I was feeling was love, the truth is I don’t think I’ve ever been truly in love.  I thought I was once… I mean really gave more of myself than I thought I had to give.  Allowed myself to need in a way I’ve never needed, took down all my shields and guards… then found out it had all been an illusion…. so at this point, I have no choice but to admit that for as much as I felt, I wasn’t in love with a person as much as I was with an idea, and a false one at that. I’m sure that’s what that fool represented in the recent past position in July’s Tarot reading – and until now, I’ve been afraid to admit it.  So the one time I truly thought I was experiencing real love – not puppy love, not “comfort” love, not “attention” love, not “lust” love… but real love…. never existed.

I never hesitated in saying it once I thought I was feeling it.  Trust me… if something’s on my mind or in my heart, I pretty much put it out there – quite literally for the world to see.  I’ve written all sorts of poetry expressing what I thought was love, and never hesitated in being the first to say what I felt.  Something is different now, and I’m not sure what it is.  At first, I thought it was just downright fear.  Fear of being hurt, fear of being rejected, fear of being vulnerable.  But, the more I think about it, the more I realize it has very little, if anything, to do with fear.  What it has to do with is making sure I get past the illusions, not getting sucked in by “new” sensations. It’s about me truly understanding where I am, why I’m there, what I’m feeling, why I’m feeling it… and dissecting it from all angles, waiting it out, seeing how life unfolds.  If I’d taken the time and insight to do that in the past, to truly evaluate each situation and weigh out the pros and cons and think through the possible consequences, I could have avoided a whole lot of emotional chaos.  For the time being, I’m perfectly content with taking a bold step in saying I am most definitely and undeniably twitterpated.

After I delved into my own thoughts this morning, I gave myself a much needed break and did something I rarely do… I went back to bed! I set the alarm, giving myself an additional hour and a half to sleep.  When I woke, although I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish, I rebelled against the list and, instead, got lost in the virtual world of SIMS.  That’s a red flag for me now… getting lost in SIMS.  It means I’m feeling like things are out of control in my own reality and I get lost in a virtual world where I can play the role of God and change things at my own will, whether it’s redecorating a house, changing a job, getting or losing a pet, or sending my SIMS out on first dates.  I knew when I’d lost two hours to the game that I was in spiritual trouble.

Just then, T called.  He wanted me to leave early so I could stop by a shop he’d been in that morning to look at something he thought would be appreciated by one of my offspring.  He told me to meet him at his place and I could follow him to the store and go from there to work.  With that, I did a quick change, threw my hair in a pony tail, and set out for the afternoon.

When I’d arrived at T’s, he was working on fixing the breaks in his son’s car.  His son, who was supposed to be helping him, disappeared.  As T laid himself down on cusioned trash bags on the ground to crawl under the car, he said, “When I tell you to, climb into that seat there and push on the breaks.”

We did a series of, “Push… don’t let go.  Hold it.  Okay, now pump them.  Let go.  Push down.  Pump. Hold it.”

It was something so simple… yet, in the moment, I appreciated the way we communicated.  Simple things.  Simple things. (Exhale).

When finished, he climbed into his truck and I climbed into my Jeep and we headed to the shop he’d spoke of.  He was exactly right in his assessment of the item and its intended recipient.  Hold the item until Friday… then I’ll go pick it up.

I went from there to work, which was an odd shift.  First of all, it was a short shift – and I hate the short shifts.  I live 35 miles from where I work… it’s not worth it for me to drive 35 miles to work 3 1/2 hours for less than forty bucks.  But, I do it anyway… not always, but when there’s a need.  Today, there really was no need because it was incredibly slow.  Not only was it incredibly slow, but the mood of the dining guests seemed extremely somber.  Even the manager noticed, “Gee, you walk into the dining room and everyone’s faces are like this…”  She makes a morbid face, we all nod, and go about our miniscule tasks.  I was rolling silverware.  On Weekdays, no matter how short the shift, we’re required to roll forty pounds of silverware.  On weekends, it’s sixty.  I rolled my forty pounds, which filled two plastic containers.  My name in each container as required, lids on as required, I was told to put the cases on the scale to weigh them before turning them in.  As I lifted the cases to put them on the scale, the bottom of one cracked and came completely apart, cascading my silverware to the floor… unusable.  Everyone stopped and waited for my reaction. They all know what a pain in the ass it is to roll forty pounds and that I’d not be able to turn in the twenty pounds I’d just lost… and all I could do was laugh.  The manager had mercy on me, though. “Unroll them all and take them to the dish room and I won’t make you re-roll them.”

*sigh*

Because it was so slow, we all got turned loose early.  I called T just to let him know I was on my way home and to see how the rest of his day went… and we decided I’d stop by his place on the way to watch a movie.  Instead of a movie, we ended up watching a few episodes of the Three Stooges, and an episode of the Simpsons.  As he reached for the movie, I reached for my phone to check the time.  Too late… no time to put in a movie. It was already ten thirty.

While I was at his place, I grabbed hold of his Medicine Wheel animal cards.  I like to draw one every time I’m at his place since I don’t have a deck here to incorporate into my Daily Dose.  The card I drew tonight was the Bear… Introspection.  It spoke of going into the inner cave and hibernating while in search of life’s bigger truths.  I laughed out loud.  Nothing could have been more appropriate.

And so another day becomes a yesterday while tomorrow waits in the mists to manifest.

Life is good.

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Friday… can I get an Amen? *grins*

It’s the one day off I have this week, then it’s back to the grind until Thursday of next week. I’m trying to tweak my schedule at work to allow for a bit more me time. Until now, I’ve been working mids, which falls somewhere along the lines of 11 a.m. – 7 p.m., but that’s just on paper. What that translates to is up at six a.m. for some coffee thoughts and Wendi wonderings, in the shower by 8, leave the house by 9:30 a.m. – Why leave at 9:30 if I’m not due in ’til 11? Elementary, my dear Watson… I live 40 miles from where I work, so it takes roughly an hour, not counting any quick stops for breakfast, smokes, or fuel. The out-time on the schedule says 7 p.m., but that’s a bold-faced lie. I’m not even sure why they put out times on the schedule, really. An out-time of 7 p.m. usually means 8:30 or 9 p.m. – and even then, that just means I stop taking orders at tables and start doing sidework, which can take another full hour. Add another hour (+) for the ride home, and I’ve been getting home somewhere around 10 or 11 p.m. – just in time to crash and do it all over again.

Work is tense right now for a few good reasons. First and foremost, the air conditioning is out. Employees are all sweating their faces off (literally in some of the female cases), guests are complaining, and I feel like a ball-park-frank… ya know “they plump when ya cook ’em”. Secondly, with fuel prices and cost of living escalating the way it has, people, in general, are not tipping the way they used to, if they tip at all. I’ve discussed this with the other servers… we’re all feeling the pinch. We get stiffed by about 1 in 3 tables, and the tips in general have declined almost by half. This makes the $2.13 hourly wage of servers even more intollerable, and some of the servers are getting hostile. We’re spending more, earning less – and there really doesn’t seem to be any way to break that cycle other than looking for a new job (of which there are none and for which many of us aren’t qualified), or increasing the number of hours we work (which I’ve done)… keeping in mind that we’re not allowed to excede those precious 40. No overtime.

It used to cost me about 40 bucks to fill Pixie Dust (the Jeep Wrangler) with her chemical cocktail diet, now it costs me around 60 bucks. Now let’s take another look at this situation. I drive 40 miles to work, spend at least ten hours doing what I do, earning what I can – which, on most days now, is averaging about sixty bucks. Hmmm. It’s another 40 mile drive home and there’s only about quarter tank of gas. Fill up on the way home. That equates to: Drive to work to earn the money to fuel the car to drive to work. Hell, I could have stayed home and broke even AND stayed in my pajamas… but I’ve got those 32 hours weekly to maintain in order to qualify for the insurance. Defeated… DRAT!

Being that costs are increasing and income is decreasing, I’m a good couple of months behind in the necessities – bills are past due, shut off notices are coming in – and, oh, yeah… the kids were sure hoping they’d be able to EAT THIS WEEK! *LOL* – What to do? Take a deep breath, exhale, and try not to panic. Stressing over it isn’t going to fix it. Just keep plugging away in that endless cycle until something changes.

Something’s changing. I’ve got an appointment today at 3 p.m. with a lender about getting pre-approved for a home loan. The ex, bless his heart, wants to buy this house – and I’d love to live closer to town. Here’s the history.

Just as we got married four years ago, I did an outstanding deal with real estate in Vegas. We bought a house, I worked hard at re-shaping it (i.e., cleaning, painting, buffing, polishing, repairing, landscaping, etc.), and made a perty penny on it when we sold it three months later. The ex, reitiring from the Air Force, wanted to leave Las Vegas and move anywhere else. He asked me where I wanted to go.

Stay with me here….

Four years earlier, I’d had a powerful dream about the number 15 that stuck with me on a major scale. When he asked where I wanted to move (“Pick anywhere in the U.S.!), I asked, “What’s the fifteenth state admitted to the Union?” And here we are in Kentucky, paid for by yours truly with funds from that real-estate deal.

Granted, we bought that house together and sold it together, but while he was working his day job, I was re-creating that house to make it worthy of resale and he credits me with doing just that. Therefore, I paid for the Uhaul, the gas for the road trip, the travel trailer we lived in for the first 30 (ish) days, the campground we stayed at until we found a house to buy (this house!), the food we ate, the hotels we stopped at along the way, and then bought this house with cold hard cash. Paid in full – no mortgage! Go me! Of course, the military kicked in a bit after the fact, but their contributions were promptly spent on the debt of the ex (of which I really knew nothing prior to the “I do” part of the process… Duh, me!).

During the three years we lived in this house together, we were meant to be fixing it up… that was part of the whole “fixer-upper” purchase agreement. However, we quickly learned that his idea of “fixing” and my idea of “fixing” differed greatly. God bless the man, he’s got a heart of gold and the best of intentions. I’d say: “Gee, I wish we had a door leading to the laundry room.” He’d then fire up a power saw. Granted, I got the entry to the laundry room… but it’s far from being a “door”. It’s a hole in the wall, really – unfinished, unsanded… a raw hole. The same thing happened to the master bedroom when I suggested a dog door. Power saw + master bedroom = Wendi sleeps on the couch, now.

At any rate, the house is in such a condition that it’s really beyond my means to fix… financially and regarding know how. I can change a light-bulb, no problem. I can switch a shower head. I can clean and paint (well, kinda on the painting). That’s about the extent of my “repair” abilities. I’ve lived here for a year on my own with my kids since the divorce – and between the damage to the house itself and the distance I have to travel to reach civilization, it’s not managable for me anymore – and God bless the ex, he wants it – and is willing to buy it. He’s been pre-approved for his loan, and now it’s my turn.

I got the call on Monday that his loan was approved and I had the go ahead to seek mine. However, the moon was in her fourth quarter Tuesday and that’s just bad mojo. Could have called Wednesday when the moon shifted into her first quarter, but the moon was void-of-course on Wednesday – bad for starting new projects, or getting results that differ greatly from what was envisioned. Thursday was my day… moon first quarter waxing, not void-of-course, and Thursday is governed by Jupiter, the day for luck, numbers, and – you guessed it – MONEY! I placed the call Thursday morning and had a call-back by Thursday afternoon to set up today’s appointment – bring in documentation of funds.

But before I can hit that three o’clock magick in the making, I have to run a few other errands. Stinkerbelle and I both need our prescriptions filled (In Leitchfield, 17 miles away), then go to the bank (in Brownsville, 20 miles away in the opposite direction), and we need a few things from the ever-loving Dollar General store… shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, bodywash, deoderant, razors, paper towels…. you know, all those things we’ve run out of (or come close to running out of) that I was too tired or too broke to stop after work to pick up. Oh, and a shower head… the kids busted the shower trying to bathe the dogs the other day ’cause the air conditioner unit at the house is also on the fritz (and I can’t afford to have it fixed just yet).

After errands and meetings, there are those domestic duties I’ve not had time for… do the laundry, iron uniforms, do the kids’ chores (for real, I mean). The kids have their chores – do this while I’m at work. They’re not hard chores and the kids are teens, so it’s not rocket science. But the kids have this half ass view of the world at present and their idea of clean and my idea of clean differ greatly. Of course, I try not to be too hard on them ’cause the air is broke so it’s hotter than hell in the house, and we’re kind of skimping by in the grocery department (no one’s starving, but a lot is left to be desired). So, I over-compensate and don’t ride them the way I should about pulling their fair share around the house.

Because the donkeys were hee-hawing all night (yeah, donkeys are my closest neighbors!), echoed by coyote howls and cries, accompanied by the dog scratching himself every five minutes (heat rash), coupled with the over-bearing heat and the fact that I sleep on the sofa, I didn’t sleep all that well last night. I dreamed weird, but I’ve lost the dreams at this point – can’t remember. Allowed myself to sleep in, which translates to 8 o’clock, and here I am trying to find my thoughts before the day begins.

I’d had hopes of completing June’s Enchantmonths article prior to today, but the hours at work were such that I didn’t have time for much outside of the minimal research I did accomplish – but I’ve decided not to berate myself for that lack of creative productivity. I’m doing what I can do and I’m doing the best I can. In the mean time, I’m still transferring my older writings from my scattered folders and sources to their new home here – and I am very much enjoying that process.

That being said, my free-time is up. I’d like to transfer a few more of those old writings before I set out for the day, must see to it that the dogs get walked (and hosed down!), the documents organized for my meeting, the deposit for the bank prepared, the prescriptions tucked into my purse, a quick shower (without the shower head!), and then off to the races.

In spite of the trials and tribulations, Life is good.

*yawns*

W

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Written by:
Wendi Friend
2003

When we write, we may create anything from a sweet piece of poetry to a best selling novel. When we write as a profession, we pay close attention to detail, to the choices of words and sentence structure. On the other hand, when writing personally, we may just throw our words out toward the page, letting them fall where they may. In diaries, we don’t worry so much about dotting that I or crossing the T . In diaries, we rant about whatever is on our minds from eating habits to romance. But there’s a third type of writing, often unnoticed, which can be equally as productive and pleasing as the professional and personal styles of writing. Merging the attention to detail as in professional writing with the raw innocence of diary writing, one can embark on a spiritual journey, recording revelations, epiphanies, insights, growth patterns and more. With the proper intent, anyone can begin the writing of his or her own Spiritual Journal.

One thing I love about journal keeping is that it’s not as rigid with rules as professional writing. In a journal, one can get away with writing fragmented sentences and putting hyphens or apostrophes in the wrong places. However, when keeping a record of your spiritual journey, it is imperative to pay close attention to detail. Your editor’s eye must make way for the eye of your heart to see through the words to the truer meanings and reflections of self. While you may not be looking for typos and misprints, you will want to be acutely aware of your choice of words and how they align with your true intention.

In some of my own spiritual journals, I’ll write a specific question with a word or two that I’d normally not use, or that may, in some way, stand out to me. Later, when the answer comes to me, I’m able to recognize it because that word was used! For example, this morning, I wrote in my spiritual journal that I wanted to hold on tighter when I feel I’m losing balance. I wanted to feel secure and assured as I go through life’s obstacles. When I finished writing how I felt inside, I drew a Fairy Oracle card, a Tarot card and a Tao card for the day. (I draw these cards daily when I can because it helps me to learn and remember them. When I do full spread readings, I’m then able to more easily recognize the messages for having seen them before in this more personal manner.) The cards I drew this morning used the words assurance and secure while telling me to hold on, find balance and have faith that my dreams are manifesting. The words I used in the writing became very relevant when I saw the words in the reading.

The answers don’t always fall in the form of divinatory cards, but also through people, songs, television commercials and several other unpredictable ways where synchronicity is in play. I may write a word in the morning, then hear it on the radio in a song that will penetrate me in a different way. The word becomes a “trigger” for deeper self- reflection.

In February of 2001, I wrote about Inspirare and other writing workshops. Inspirare had such an effect on me that it completely changed the way I live my life. Though it was a workshop for writers, it was a spiritual journey. In this workshop were exercises that would take one into the depths of themselves — deeper than we even knew we could go. The workshop lasted one year, consisting of twelve modules — one monthly. Each module introduced a new subject, required research and provoked inspiration on new levels. This workshop is where I learned the importance of spiritual record keeping.

My shelves were lined with journals and diaries. Anyone who knew me at all knew well that I’m never more content than when setting pen to paper; but until the Inspirare project, I don’t believe I’d ever written with power and intent. That’s what made all the difference in the world. Where a diary is a place to vent emotion and release negativity, a spiritual journal is a place where one accepts responsibility for their own actions, understands their own power and uses that understanding and power to generate positive results through intent.

To write in a spiritual journal is to signify that you know your words have power. Once per month, I perform a Tarot reading and record it in my journal. Later, I’m able to go back and review the lessons, how they were presented in the cards, how they manifested and how I handled them when they came up.

Dreams are also great material for spiritual journals because once one begins to question the meanings of dreams, many answers spill forth. But you don’t have to be a dream therapist or fortuneteller in order to record a spiritual journal. Regardless of your faith, background, gender or age, you can “map out” the journey of your spirit by simply writing what you truly feel, need, want and how you plan on creating that reality through intent, prayer, effort, and action.

In my raw opinion, there’s no faster way for a person to evolve than to record the journey in written word. In writing our goals and intentions, we empower them and create a space where they can manifest. But spiritual journals are also fantastic for reflection, to see where one may have fallen off track or made errors in judgment. In this way, you can use where you’ve been to identify how you got to where you are and how to get to the place you need to be.

There are many benefits to keeping a spiritual journal. In the end, for my personal journey, keeping the words in written form is a way to insure my legacy with my children and my children’s children. Through my experiences, may they gain an understanding, a feeling of comfort or the love of a woman living life in earnest.

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