Slanting Slinky

Updated: Feb 9, 2019

Spiral

“I am a holy human being created to live an abundant, prosperous life on Earth. I now accept the divine will for my life to prosper in every way. I seek first the Kingdom of loving my true self, and all earthly blessings will follow. Excerpt From: Ra, Kaia. “The Sophia Code.” Kaia Ra & Ra-El Publishing.


I’m reading a bit of The Sophia Code on 7/3/18 at my Michigan haven down by the river with flopping fish, dancing damselflies and leaves with messages of the universe floating in my lap.  I think back to how I sort of started knowing this one year ago--that I am supposed to live an abundant life with many blessings.  I certainly didn’t consistently express this, though. I spiraled up and down and around and my journal entries surely reflect this.  Remember the Slinkys from the 70s? You’d put them on the steps and if they were new you’d get them to do flips down the stairs. Well that was the direction of the first year without Norm.  If you smashed it a little sideways and held one end--my life spiraled like that. Even in one day.



I could begin on a low - the sharp cutting edge on the bottom end -- not wanting to get up or talk to anyone.  To prevent my caffeine withdrawal migraine I’d force myself to get out of bed to make my coffee. Then I’d be reading something like Option B or Falling Upward or my purple devotional and I’d start sliding up the thin metal coil.  I’d even accept a dinner invitation (Dana’s immeasurable advice in my head--”You are going to want to say no to every invitation out.  Do yourself a favor and go anyway. Drive yourself or have an exit strategy.”) I’d drink a few glasses of wine and eat some fake compliments.

“You look great!”

“Yah, that widow diet really works,” I’d want to say. “It comes with side effects, though. Dark circles, swollen eyes, creepy sense of humor, hallucinations, brain fog, loss of days and your dinner date.”  

Coming home to a dim empty house and dimming red wine buzz sent me slowly slipping back down the slinky slide. Sometimes I’d be sleepless on the left side of the king size bed especially if I didn’t close my eyes before the Merlot wore down. Then it would be a rollercoaster glide plummet of self-pity sobbing.

But this was my life now.  I’ve faced adversity before.  We were secretly poor when my dad died.  My mom had a minimum wage job with three teenagers and no insurance policy to carry her through the first year.  She worked it out with barely a high school diploma. Our lives got better. Mom did have to work two jobs, serving and cleaning in the hospital cafeteria during the day then waitressing at night.  We all became happier people. We had to work our butts off to stay in our house but the tension was gone. Drunken rages, smashed cars, restraining orders, police check ups all disappeared with my dad’s death.  Dad came to me in a dream once and told me that his dying on my birthday was a gift to me. I believed him. I went to college. Had it not been for social security checks offered in the early 80s to children who lost parents I would have never even thought of going to college.  It took seven years and five changed majors but I graduated in 1988 with a Bachelor’s in Secondary English and Math Education.

Norm did the same thing. Sometime in September or October he told me in a dream that his passing was also a gift. I was angry for days about this. Really??? Now? a gift? We finally get along and enjoy each other and you leave? Happy Birthday!?

His personality was eerily like my dad's. Larger than life magnetic (sometimes repelling) personality. Everything but the alcoholism. My mom would see it too. "Wow, you married your dad!" We even had the same wedding date.

In between the panic attacks and pangs of loneliness I actually did start to believe it.  Even at my low of lows I knew my life would eventually be good.  I was the queen of, “everything happens for a reason.” I would say it a lot out loud, “I know everything will be OK,” (Bob Marley is now in my head-Don't worry, bout a thing . . . ) and that is pretty much key to everything being OK.  Because everything did and is working out OK.  Why stop at OK? Why not good, great, awesome, miraculous, magical?

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  It's just so hard not to jump to the really good stuff. Not that there wasn't good stuff a year ago. I surely received some miracles and divine messages.  It’s just that the veil of funk clouded my inner vision from seeing most of it.

Oh that damn veil.  It got thicker every time someone joined me in a pity party.  When I was alone in my backyard to breathe, that veil became gauzy again.  

“You’re going to have to sell that cottage or at least start renting it out.”

< Flannel cotton--I know.

> Summer linen--Bull shit!  We love that cottage!  It’s our heaven! Norm never wanted to rent or sell it even when we were in deep debt.    

Sam can’t go to Michigan State.”  

< Thick Fuzzy Fleece-- You're right.. I’ll check into Wayne State or Oakland University so he can live at home.

> Nylon--NO freaking way! That kid worked his ass off in high school.  He’s going to MSU!

"What are you going to do?”   

< Waterproof canvas-- I don’t know.  I can’t retire now.

> Sheer Chiffon--I’m going to live my 2nd half doing what I love!  Finding my passion, living with purpose in abundance.

“What else can you do?  Your kids need your benefits.”        

< Textured Tapestry--I know, I’ll have to teach eight more years.

> Exquisite Lace--I love to write and paint and garden and create and that’s what I’ll do!


So I did that.  Some of that. I gardened and wrote so much I forgot to eat and shower sometimes.  I found some of my old journals with entries dating back to 2003. I read a few of the pages where I fawned over my sweet funny kids, complained about Norm’s temper, rambled about politics, and made gratitude lists and goals.  My hopes were “to be filled with joy, love, abundance, to be a writer, artist, inspirational and thin”. I wrote in spurts--4 or 5 entries in a month then not for a year or two. I read a lot, though. I devoured almost all of Oprah’s recommended books.  Speakers came to my Unity church and I’d read their stories. NPR lists, mystical, heart centered, near-death experiences and inspirational topics caught my attention the most. I read two to three books at a time. I had one in the car, one in my bag and one in my living room.  

Norm’s death changed this.

I read a little.  I wrote a lot. I wrote because I was still alive.  I wrote to express my shock, anger, sadness, and fear.  I wrote to escape housework, paperwork and dealing with all Norm’s stuff.  Crazy weird things happened. I wrote them down. Signs, symbols, numbers, names, places repeated and since I didn’t trust my memory, I wrote them down.  I’d lose or forget journals temporarily so I’d buy more and have several going at once. I had a car journal, a purse journal, a school journal, a dream journal (pretty empty as I rarely remember dreams), a backpack journal, a psychic journal, living room journal and bedroom journal with pens stuck in everyone.  I convinced myself I wrote best with purple Uniballs (1.0) or black Pilot G-2 10’s. I ordered boxes of them from Amazon and they were stashed all over. The kids got a severe crazy evil eye from me if they dared to take them.

So here in these grief-filled journals I began my new life. Thank you, Norm. Another gift.

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