Spring is Born

And so was I!

I always feel like spring is my birthday present. My roommate and the neighbor both gave me perfect spring bouquets. My container plants (5 in one weekend!) are already shooting out new blooms, and my wildflowers are sprouting nicely.
bday flowerscontainer plants

The number 4 is solid and built-to-last, and doubled in its endurance at 44. Also, 44 is 2×22, and I like anything that hints at 222. Happy birthday to me!
222 texaswildflowerssave the bees(Honey Nut Cheerios will send you a free packet of 500 seeds! #savethebees)

222!

tree-of-life-2
Tree of Life II
2.22.17

14″ goat hide hand drum on wood frame
w/ mallet
$250

Just a few tiny differences really transformed it, I think. I did forget that I meant to make a shape out of the middle branches – oops! – but I love it.

222This is my FIVE YEAR Blogiversary, and I have to say it’s pretty revealing to record one’s thoughts on the same day each year. February must be shitty for me, because I’ve been down more often than not on this day. I’m currently in a big Fibro flare, which doesn’t help.

Nothing suits me better than a trip to Texas to see my best friend! (I am anxious about the flight. Travel isn’t the same since Fibro. Those seats can trigger or worsen a flare, to plague me for months. Luckily, I plan to do little more than sit and laugh. And stretch a little, I suppose.) I leave in the morning for a week, to do nothing at all but be with the family that’s more family than my own.

222 is still my favorite number; truly a magical triple digit for me. So 2.22 remains a beloved day, and I love February because something about leaving January makes me feel like it’s Spring already. I’ll snap out of winter blues soon, I’m sure, so today I recommit to getting up. I trust enthusiasm to infect me again. I am who I am.
blogiversary

Synchronicity

I had another dance with… let’s see, it was ten 2s this time… on my trip home. They came at a significant location and hit really hard. I mean, you don’t often see ten of anything, but when it’s 222 – my number – I really pay attention.

I didn’t include it in my little report of the home visit, ‘cuz, I mean, don’t you get tired of me oohing and aahing over repeating numbers? And really… Really? Numbers?

I know I’m a little weird.

But that was a signal to me to pay attention. It was such a big one I was feeling really connected and alert, but I didn’t know why. When it’s my regular 222, it’s just a smile. I call it a little hug from my Cheerleaders. Four 2s, well, that’s a real howdy! But ten! Wow.

So I’ve been in dialogue with my Crew since Sunday, thanking them for being with me and getting my attention, and asking what it was I should be noticing.

Yesterday, I ran into my cousin at the supermarket. I haven’t seen her in at least 4 years. She’s an energy worker, with a focus on generational healing. How trauma changes DNA through the line came up in conversation. I brought it up, can’t remember how. “Funny you should mention that,” she said. “I just had an ancestor come up yesterday and I tracked him to 7 generations ago. I’ve been asking myself why he popped up for me, and why there is so much death around him.”

“Well, if you think about it, early Mormons would have left us with an imprint of terror. If they weren’t killed themselves, they were in fear of it. They watched their friends, neighbors and family being run off their property, at best. Terrifying!”

“Oh, I hadn’t considered that. He was a peer of Joseph Smith, too, and everyone at that time would have been in fear of death and loss.”

“Well, there you go. His actual friend was murdered. And it would have been everywhere, that palpable fear. We’re wired by recent history to expect an enemy.”

My spidey-senses were tingling. It confirmed for me that Tarot and other forms of divination are not poppycock. They’re just tools to help me fine-tune my intuition. In fact, the conversation was validating simply because intuition is so easy to dismiss, period, as ego or more hippie goddess blech. But my cousin is an easy-going Mormon gal not given to every mystic whim that rolls around. She’s just intuitive and knows it.

I admire the confidence she has in her connection, and it was a thrill to be in the right place at the right time to help her find some clarity and a new area of exploration.

The best part? She used to work for a homeopathic center. Years ago – right after the Fibro symptoms started, long before a diagnosis – she suggested I try them out. I seriously considered it. After all, she’d suffered from Fibromyalgia for a decade and had complete remission after treatment there. But… Well, you know, there’s the possibility that Fibromyalgia is a made-up malady (I still fight with that!) and herbs are so much… hippie goddess blech. “They’re natural, they can only help you.”

No. Anthrax is natural. Herbs are medicine and I don’t take that shit lightly. Yes, I believe in the benefits of plants – and Western pharmacy – but who knows how much is safe and what of interactions and and and… ?

And it’s $80 just to be seen, before they try to up-sell you on their snake oil.

Yesterday, I updated my cousin on how much worse my Fibro’s become.

“Did you ever go to that clinic?” she asked, knowing I hadn’t.

“Nooo! I should just do it. If I’m willing to spend $45 on a 15-minute phone call with a pet psychic…!”

“Go!” she scolded me.

“A couple of years ago, I could hope it would just resolve itself, but this is unlivable!”

“Go!” she ordered me.

“You know what? I’ve been asking my angels why they got my attention this weekend and I run into you. You say it worked. We’re on the same wavelength. Ah hell, I’m doing it!”

My appointment’s next Tuesday. I’ll tell you all about it! 2222222222!

Blogiversary the Fourth

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I confess I expected a more immediate response to yoga than what I’m experiencing. I’m still in PAIN. I remind myself that I’ve made positive changes to aid my healing and better my prognosis. Secretly, I fear that this is only going to keep getting worse. It’s pretty bad.

I’m grateful it’s almost exclusively on my left. I’m right-handed. Life would be a lot harder if this insane discomfort interrupted function of my dominant side. I’ve wondered why it should be so marked a difference on one side of my body, and the only thing I can think is that the car that hit me (hard) in 2009 struck me on the left. I flew 20 feet off my bike and landed on my left, as well.

The injuries were minor, but here I am. I’m not the only person to develop Fibromyalgia after an accident. It’s also common for sufferers to come from violence and abuse. ?

It sucks. I hate Fibro. But my life is good.

I love my home. I hit the roommate jackpot. I like my job. I love drumming. I’m reading book after book, with a cat on my lap. Sixteen sun-drenched plants are bursting at the seams, in Winter! I’m excited for festivals and road trips this Summer and Fall. I’m planning on Oktoberfest in Belgium and Germany.

(I don’t have kids to put in braces, college, or therapy. I do what I want!)

(I’m terrified for such a long flight, twice. Last year, I flew to the Gulf and then to NYC, back to back, a total of 3 weeks travel. I was in SO MUCH PAIN in-flight. I consider that trip the marker of my new relationship with my body. I’ve never fully recovered. ‘Til then, pain was sporadic, not nearly as high on the scale, and could pretty well be counted on to go away between flares. Now I start every day assessing what hurts and wondering if today will be a bad one. For me, Fibro worsens in the afternoon. I’m glad. It would be hard to stay my upbeat self if I woke with the discomfort I go to bed with.)

I’m utterly stuck at 155 lbs., but I can see a difference in muscle tone. I think I’ll start paying attention to body fat percentage. I need some numerical satisfaction!

I’ve quit Diet Pepsi and cigarettes. I don’t drink as much. (I can’t anymore. A Fibro hangover is like a 2-day, whole-body migraine.) (And I’m bitter!) I’m thinking about quitting coffee… but then I might as well be Mormon, and that depresses me.

I think I’m middle-aged. Weird.
HappyBlogiversary

Hurts So Good

Phew!

Yoga hurt today (I took a week off), but it hurt like it’s s’posed to. My feet cramped, but only a little. I’m on the upswing. I imagine I’ll hit roadblocks again, but I will face them with more confidence that I’m gaining strength and giving my body the love it deserves!

I was so nervous driving to class, like real anxiety. I kept reminding myself that I’d already got confirmation that it was the right thing to do, but I never trust my intuition. So I pep-talk mantra’d myself – gratitude, courage, blah blah blah – and I did it!

Even my shoulders felt better. They’ve been giving me grief since November (serious enough to disrupt my sleep – a first for Fibro and me). They still hurt and I had to modify some of the poses, as usual, to give myself the gentle introduction I need, but not as often as I’ve done in previous classes.

I’m making progress that I can feel!

The backstory on confirmation that yoga is the right thing for me, and to continue through the pain, has to do with the possibility that I might go to Burning Man this year. I’d accepted that I may never return to the land of my personal awakening. I have limited funds and the rest of the planet to see with it, but a friend from high school wants to go and offered to pay for my ticket if I’ll let him join my crew. Hell yes, I will!

I knew that I wanted to make this a special burn. I’m so much more grounded and myself than I was when I joined this crazy community 8-and-a-half years ago. I decided that I would offer Tarot readings. I’ve got to study.

To that end, I’d been reading up on chakras and Astrology, when it occurs to me to get expert on Numerology. I almost laughed that I hadn’t thought of it myself. (I began to correct that – to “sooner” – but I think I got it right, as is.) It’s so obvious, my obsession with numbers. Of course I should include that knowledge in my toolkit! So I start pinning Numerology sites and perusing those. Turns out, my life path number is 33, which is apparently very rare. That was fun.

The next day, this pin was suggested: 22222222Not any of the other number combinations I see all the time (which I also love), but my favorite number, the one that started this all for me. I smiled and said hello to the angels.

(I saw a giant, glowing 222 – like, 30 ft. tall – in the middle of the desert at my first burn. Seriously. I ran to it and danced.)

Later in the day, I was considering how to continue my yoga practice after the new-student intro concludes. I can pay for classes as I go or get a membership, which is a little rich for my blood. Some things are worth it, of course, so I set about doing some comparison math. I divided the membership fee by 4, to see if it would be cheaper than paying for 2 walk-in sessions each week. It was. In fact, it came out to 22.2. 🙂

I learned a long time ago that 222 means, “You’re on the right path. Keep going.”

Now I just have to memorize all the other numbers’ meanings, and all mystical things, and then trust my intuition when I finally share it for the first time at Burning Man 2016. It’s a loving place to learn and practice, and no one will mind that I’m reading them with a Bloody Mary in my hand for breakfast.

I’m going home!!!

****

No weight loss for a second week in a row, but no weight gain either. I’m building muscle and retaining lactic acid, yet. I can see a difference in my waist. It was never tiny, but I was square as a brick there for a minute! I’d like to see the number drop eventually, of course, but I’m just not panicked about it. It will.

I’m 6 days cigarette-free.

My Favorite Number

A 222 kind of day!

A girl in my dance class announced her upcoming workshop, “Divine Love,” from 2/2 – 2/22, on offer to everyone in the class for $222. After class, I noticed I’d parked in front of building #222, and premium unleaded at my corner gas station is selling for 2.22.

I was born at 2:22. Hi, angels! 🙂
222

222

I confess I find myself in a malaise this 3rd WordPress anniversary.

I’m struck by thoughts of “Too late, ” “What’s the point?” and, generally, “Meh.” I catch myself in fantasies of my 20s, thinking what I might have done if I knew then what I know now. It’s such a useless enterprise, and yet I find myself perpetually there. I think, “Well, start now!” See above.

This “blah” has been sitting on me all year. I was waiting to get depressed. When that didn’t happen, I waited to snap out of it. Neither so far.

I’ve tried 3 times now to write something meaningful or interesting in any particular on this blogiversary. The truth will have to suffice.

Having said that, I am looking forward to Hottie Hoop Camp next month. I thrive in the classroom, and I’m excited about the possibility of unlocking this brainfreeze I’ve been stuck in (for years) with my hooping. I’m so ready for a lengthy visit with my best friend. She moved last summer, and I really feel the lack of her in this blasé phasé.

The End
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