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Homeless: Streets of Santa Barbara
Sunday December 16, 2007
 Sometimes I will be simply living my life, going through the daily routines, when suddenly it jumps up and bites me in the tush. I thought I'd dealt with that, that 'time' out of the past, long ago and I could put it to rest.
I 'mooched' 'Games People Play' and plunged into the book. I'd read it years ago and I wanted to refresh my memory. Oh, how many of those games I've played, some willingly - some not willingly. Inevitably, it brings me to a reflection of the damage I've done as well as the pain and resentment that so completely overwhelms my own soul. It's a wonder I can even get out of bed, all things considered.
When I die, I might just be obliterated. There will be no more suffering. Game over. Or the soul gets to go over the lessons it has learned over past lifetimes, reflect on those, and take time with spiritual beings to select the possibilities for the next life to come. Some may only anticipate going to heaven or hell, and just staying put for eternity. When will payment be due and how much?
I'm sort of back at square one, still trying to heal the wounds on my soul. When trauma or crisis happens, a bit of our soul gets taken away. The little part of us that can't deal with what is going on runs to hide in the closet, like a child afraid of the storm outside. The part that managed to stick around for the chaos and shock functions just a little bit more guarded now. It's a little slower. As we get older and the suffering of being in parts is too much, we can go through 'soul retrieval'.
I made a list of who I needed to deal with (in my healing journey). Then I started reviewing the circumstances. That is overwhelming, so I had to organize things. Chronological order seems like a good idea. I'm still hovering around age 7.
When I was in kindergarten, some bad guy was driving around in a black car, giving out black golf balls that were poisonous. It sounds very weird, but it's true. My teacher even took one to the principal's office. She brought it back cut in half and told us never to take anything from a stranger.
The problem was when my mom and my brother tried to reassure me at home. They denied there was any bad guy in a black car. They acted like they didn't know what I was talking about. That made me question - what? Reality? Life? Over the years, I've felt hurt that they weren't honest with me. I should just let it go, but I can't. So I need to replay it. It's a very minor instance of something that still 'rangles' this very sensitive little person inside of me. Then when I add in the events over the years, like broken hearts, violent crimes, abuse, and various things causing humiliation, anger or guilt, it's all too much. It's like driving around in a station wagon with all this stuff loaded way in the back. If you're cruising along, things are fine. If something comes up unexpectedly and you have to slam on the brakes, all that stuff comes flying forward and ends up in the front seat, on your lap, burying you. I'm going to go read now.
| | Posted by Lulublue at 11:26 PM - | |
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Saturday December 8, 2007
Thursday December 6, 2007
Oh, I'm just too excited about this. Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm not fishing. I'm just amazed I've made it this far considering the way I lived my life. I like excitement, risks, and close calls. I've had quite a bit of all 3. Last night, I had the "weird birthdays" talk with my 12 year old. I was born on Pearl Harbor Day and went through 5 or 6 years of being very sad on my birthdays. You get up on your special day and the first thing you're reminded of is that it is a 'day of infamy'. Why a 'weird birthdays' talk?  In 1980, what should happen the day after my birthday? John Lennon was shot. Killed. As you probably know, I loved The Beatles and their music. Still do. They provided the musical backdrop for a huge part of my life. They helped form some of my life's attitudes, as they did for so many hippie/flower children/baby boomers. The day before my birthday in the later 1980s, Roy Orbison died. A couple of nights ago, my 12 year old asked what I was reading. It was a book about the cycles of Saturn and how it related to Hitler's chart. I didn't say it then, but with the birthday topic appropriately near, the following night (last night) I mentioned to my son the strange birthday ties and coincidences that run in our family. That son was born on April 20, Hitler's birthday. The Oklahoma City bombing was the day before he was born. Columbine was April 20. Now every odd-ball with a score to settle picks April 20, Hitler's birthday. I did tell my son that, on the more positive side, my 2 brothers in law, unknown by my sisters at the times of their respective marriages, were each born on April 20, and they're each very, very financially comfortable, shall we say...??$,$$$,$$$ One of that son's first words was money. Then I told him about my older son being born on August 6, the day the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima by the U.S. My sons' father is half Italian, half Japanese.Lots of great things have happened on Pearl Harbor Day, too. One was when my mother did not grant her mother-in-law's wish to name me Pearl. I learned I was pregnant with my first son on December 6, 1989. Being born on December 7 doesn't really bother me any more. It just signals that it's time to decorate for Christmas.
| | Posted by Lulublue at 3:25 PM - | |
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Wednesday December 5, 2007
Monday December 3, 2007
 We've all seen the little packages of mistletoe for sale in the grocery stores. We've all (probably) been kissed under the mistletoe, too. Simply put, mistletoe stands for 'goodwill'. Goodwill is something we should all keep close to our hearts during the holiday season.  Druids used mistletoe extensively and it was sacred to them. The legends and mythology surrounding mistletoe are fascinating and go back to antiquity.   So, go get yourself some mistletoe! | | Posted by Lulublue at 4:13 PM - | |
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