Pain of Remaining the Same

I am not sure I am being a good journaler, in that I am logging in for the mere sake of logging in and writing something, but then again, the hallmark of a truly good writer is one who gets up and practices their art, or their craft if you will, daily. I've always found it difficult to do anything daily, except perhaps brushing my teeth, and there have been times even that was a stretch.

I just read another blog by C.H. Featherstone in which he simply discussed various religious services he had attended in several different languages, and stated if one was open, intimating that whether the language was completely understood or not, one could find the Spirit anywhere, and I suppose I agree with that to a great extent. I have found myself in much worse places than edifices housing religious services not coinciding with my avowed flavor, and been able to call upon the Holy Spirit of My Father in heaven, and found Him there, in a heartbeat, so to speak.

He also stated that he intended to pursue a Masters of Divinity program at the Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago this fall. He has been working as a journalist for a decade, and I found a great admiration for his having the chutzpah to be able to state "Journalism is no longer my calling, if it ever was."

It was a brief, but thought-provoking, and not un-coincidental, blog reading for me. I have been sensing the breezes of change for a while whispering about my life. Hinting to me there might be something more planned for me to do, to pursue. But the thought of breaking out of my safety net of a living which I had always believed to be that last career... well I have not been handling it well. I believe my inability to grasp the possibility that I might still have some unrecognized potential left in this deteriorating temple of mine... it has contributed to the self-abuse. It occurs to me I've spent so much energy attempting to keep change-- and growth!-- at bay, I've actually developed stress cracks that extend from my flesh into the center of my soul. Maybe that accounts for some of the bitterness one of my friends claims she can see in me. Maybe that accounts for the emotional aloofness and bulldog tenacity with which I pursue anything I perceive to be slightly within my right of control, which angers my eldest son to the point of maternal renunciation.

It has been two decades since I was shaken to my core, to my immense betterment and complete physical and spiritual renovation. For some odd reason, I did not take the lesson of Faust, and I paused... and allowed myself to think "I am done. It is enough." Well of course it is not. Pause much longer, and I am destined to become the devil's fodder. Instead, it is time...to return to the basics of the serenity prayer, to accept the flow of life's current, to ask for the courage to withstand the knocks of the rocks surely to impede my new path, to throw myself upon the mercy of God and His Universe of Love, and to embrace the adventure.

I believe I am ready... I will be pursuing a new regime of studying the effect of raw food on my body, this fall, until late November, and again for a semester in January. I am no longer fearful of where it may take me, but eager to see my life be renewed again.

Dreams can be very Telling

Ugh, bleccch. How I feel about how I've behaved the past two months. Life has been a maelstrom, and whatever weight I lost the first few weeks of July has certainly returned with reinforcements by now.

But I had a dream. It was two nights ago now. I was in a hospital and someone was telling me "You have to get up, get up and go find help!" and in the dream I ran out into the hall, which was littered with different colored plastic tubelines all running along a grey carpet, and the hallways were all crooked, and I ran down to the bottom and saw a nurse tending to a man on a cart in the hallway, but he was covered as if he had passed away. Suddenly little orange and white lights in round, aluminum exploded partway open into star-shaped balls emitting bright light, like Christmas balls, all over his body, and I awoke and my heart was pounding hard AND racing as I was laying asleep...

I'd had a particularly stressful day, and overate and overdrank before going to sleep--- it was my body calling out to me to go get help. I roused my husband in the next room (I snore too loudly for anyone to sleep next to) and he got me onto the couch, directly under a fan, elevated my feet, and gave me aspirin. My heartrate was double what it should have been. It took nearly half an hour to slow back down. It wasn't a heart attack, but it was SOMETHING. A wake-up call, let's call it.

So I contacted this woman, this warrior of a woman, whose website I've been visiting over a year now. I've toyed, I've played with the vegan/rawfoodan route to regain my health. I've studied it a lot, even attempted it a couple times. This time's for real. I told her my dream, and she said "Dreams can be very telling." In reading her journal, I see she dreams vividly too.

I still have a very strong dream, of being very strong and lean and regaining the healthy, athletic body with which I had been gifted, and cleansing out my temple. It occurred to me the other day, no matter how one believes, no matter what religion or philosophy, whether in spirit, soul, or Spirit/soul... all our bodies are temples in which that highest part of us is housed. Do I really want my soul to live in this rundown ramshackle building? No, and I want to remodel as quickly and efficiently as possible. She told me to start moving towards raw by cutting processed foods and overt fats like fried foods and cheese. "Eat lean to live long." I haven't eaten fried in a long time, but I can find ways to cut out my over-usage of good fats. And change the times I am eating, the latenight grazing, which has become my particular drug of choice.

I'm told I must be willing to ask family and friends for their support during the stages of this new program. This support is crucial. Hiding the diet from others because I don’t want to defend it or explain how I am trying, yet again, "one... more... diet" does not work. It will hurt me in the end, so this is for the world to see, whatever portion of it ever does. At least I'm still putting it out there. Hope it's not just a confession complex. Here I go again on my own.