some bad poetry

I’m here

Again, stuck in the orbit of a faraway planet,

Kinda looks like Neptune from here…

I’m circling ’round and ’round and ’round,

With no permission to land, or explore…

And I get sick to my stomach as I do these spiritual

Somersaults,

Alone, in this inky nothingness,

Punctuated by dots of light messages

From already dead things.

 

All I have right now

as some trite transmission to your home base

is half-baked,

really bad poetry

to show you that this interstellar mission

to get home

involves you, somehow.

 

Permission to land?

Permission to land?

Permission to

Land.

Calling on the right ones

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Photo credit: Tim Van Damme

This is a long one, so just sit back and get cozy.

I wrote this two months ago, and I didn’t publish it because I felt super whiny, albeit rightly so. It’s a little scattered, like the energy that swirls around in the U.S. So I apologize in advance for the motifs and metaphors that come and go.

Two months later, not much has changed in my life, and this topic of asking, and not receiving, is still very relevant right now. Today is Day 120 of unemployment and under this moon in Pisces, I feel very done.

Pisces is the last sign in the zodiac, so that’s also why I feel done. Pisces is a water sign and it’s very intuitive, but also very emotional. So I also feel like a catharsis from the past 4 months.

 

The pain I’m enduring is not being wasted. The isolation I’m experiencing is not being wasted. The incessant asking that isn’t being answered is not being wasted. I have to believe in the law of conservation of energy: 

Energy can neither be created nor destroyed; instead, it transforms from one form to another.

I’m still scared, but not as much. And I’m still sad, but not as much. When I woke up after I thought about all this, the black weighty gloom lifted, just a little.

I cannot tell  you how many times I’ve repeated this process, of pushing the tag team twins of doom and gloom off of me, like I’m under too hot of blankets. It’s becoming an almost everyday process, of choosing to be here, of choosing not to look at my circumstances and letting that be the only story told about who I am and my purpose here on Earth.

This morning, before I was officially awake, I was blogging in my head. Maybe the correct term is ruminating. Either way, my adventure with NaNoWriMo must have kicked on my loquacious Mercury in Sagitarrius writer’s button, because now, I can’t stop writing.

I know that keep writing about the same topic, over and over. I also feel like I’ve been running in place for over four years–that Sisyphean energy.

What’s this all worth, really?

Fixed candles are burning, pink and green, pulling down love and money respectively. I’m waiting to be called for my phone interview with a former employer [That went well, but there may not be a decision until, at the latest, March?]. ETA: I heard back yesterday when I checked in, and there will be no face-to-face interview. Today [January 31st] I also got another rejection from the worst phone interview I’ve ever had. Friday, I got a rejection from what I thought was my dream job. 

Clouds are starting to gather as I see our resident vultures gliding high in the air. I’ve been listening to Coldplay’s Ghost Stories, over and over. It’s been reported to be a breakup album, from when Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow. It sounds more like their old stuff. I actually need to stop before I start hating it. But hey, you can use this as the soundtrack for this post.

What I was blogging in my head has escaped me a bit, mainly because I resolved that angsty puzzle. But I remember now.

Today, in two different tarot/oracle card decks, I pulled the equivalent of Three of Swords: heartache, sadness, loss. It was definitely a reading of my energy–maybe it’s just the residue, or it’s just always there.

I’m already loathe to talk about this, because I can hear my own inner critic join the chorus of my fellow Americans who have bought into the bootstrapping myth, as if any of us can make it without any help. There are so many conversations I’ve had with friends about the value in asking for help and the importance of community, and they are all running in my head right now.

Under this full moon in Gemini, which is not helping with keeping my head clear due to the streaming of information, I’m thinking about the losses of this year. Besides struggling with a job loss, I did lose a few friends. I’ve gotten wise about how life works, though. So many lessons in the losses… mainly I was trying way too hard with those friendships. It’s a bad habit that has cost me time and money. I’m finally sensitive to not trying to make anything happen.

But with those losses, I’m doing a lot of grinding by myself.

I’ve had to really upgrade my definition of “friend.” Right now, I have a lot of really good acquaintances and not a lot of friends. And as an immigrant’s daughter, there really isn’t family to fall back on during hard times. I fall back on myself.

I’m resilient, very resilient. And I tire of it. I remember telling my therapist in grad school of my exhaustion with my own indefatigable spirit.

I look at my unemployment, which is the longest stretch I’ve ever had, and wonder when it will end. It keeps unfurling, like a long, blank scroll, emphasis on blank.

And I know why I resent my resilience. There’s some inner child wounding being healed as I go through this valley, places inside of me that need parenting and re-parenting. have to do it, no one else. I have to release the need, the compulsion, of my parents to come in and take care of me.

It’s not a bad one, this need. It’s 100% natural. It’s how the parent/child relationship is set up. But when the parents are unable or unwilling, you have to take up the slack. And I don’t like it. Thankfully, even the acknowledgement of not liking it is a step towards healing.

Yes, I deserved better support and guidance, and yet, I didn’t receive it. And yes, in order to move forward, I have to just (suck it up) take care of myself.

I don’t necessarily believe in shitty circumstances being orchestrated  in your life, just so you can learn things. That’s a bit self-absorbed, in my opinion. I am 100% sure that the Universe would rather draw us through kindness.

The way I see life is that shitty things will happen, regardless of whether I’m at the “proper vibration” or whether I had enough “faith.” The question isn’t if those things will happen–it’s when. And then what are you being invited to do? How will your RSVP, oui ou non?

Not finding work as quickly as I need isn’t some grand universe conspiracy. But I have been invited to slow down, reassess my life, and continue to bring healing to that deserving inner child that seems to have been left by herself. I’ve also been invited to trust the Universe in ways that are frightening–at least for a Capricorn sun and a Cancer moon. Job and housing insecurity would probably frighten most people, though.

Until I came down here to Florida for grad school, I never really realized how much I relied on myself and on my friends. I don’t know if I took my friends for granted, or even myself. I hope I’ve always come from a place of gratitude.

The longer I’ve been here, the more I’ve become active on social media–and thank goodness because otherwise, I’d be worse off in all ways–and not connected to people locally. That’s mainly because of money: it costs to hang out with people, even if you’re just driving to meet up to do something free. I’ve been able to give myself a lot of patience and grace with this, and I need to give myself even more.

I did realize, though, that culturally, the way I was raised as a Ghanaian does not mesh well with the “rugged individualism” of America. Looking back, I can see how my family’s relationships with other Ghanaian families weren’t a luxury, they were a necessity. We went out of our way to go on road trips to visit people in Michigan, Georgia, Louisiana.

Even though I’m not close with most of those families anymore, I still consider them as family–somewhat. Even with this current lack of closeness, you could say that American culture has started to erode our bonds. Not to be too simplistic, though–because I know there are a myriad of reasons why people grow apart over time. Still, we’ve gotten absorbed in our own lives.

But I’m still wired to go out of my way. Yet, there are fewer and fewer people to go out of my way for. And vice versa.

And that was a big lesson this year. I was going out of my way for people who would never make that effort back. And now, they are gone. Effort can’t solve everything.

It’s been a funny journey for me with my willingness to asking for help. I have loathed hating asking for help, and it’s possible I’m living a self-fulfilling prophetic nightmare. Before I even made it to Florida, I had to ask for help to get down here. Since I’ve been here, I’ve asked and asked and asked–and I’m still asking. To hear the silence roaring back in response to my request, and not have it be about me, to not have it be that I’m not deserving or that I’m unworthy or whatever other ugly self-judgments that I have to fight off…I know I’m learning a few things from that.

  1. I’m not the only one whose voice isn’t being heard or heeded to. There are people all over the world who ask help for help and are ignored.
  2. Asking for help doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll be helped by the ones I ask.
  3. Related to #2, this message came across Twitter earlier today: I’m not asking for too much, but I’m asking the wrong people.

This last message, about who to ask, has been a mindbender for me. I’ve looked back at how I’ve been provided for in ways that were unexpected. As a Capricorn, I really like efficiency. I just want the big ole windfall, the amount of money that will take care of everything all at once. But that’s not what I’ve been invited to receive.

My ultimate invitation, every day, is to trust the Universe, for everything. When it gets to brass tacks stuff: my bills, food, shelter, transportation–it’s scary. My hierarchy of needs pyramid is on fire, starting from the bottom. It’s admittedly crazy-making. Not having enough money is stressful and can cause you to not think clearly.

Through that fog of confusion, I can clearly see that the right one to ask for help from is the Universe. I’ve been incredibly stubborn and resistant about this change because it’s not how I usually have gotten things done. Being resilient and rallying for help when I needed–it hasn’t been as difficult as it has been for the past few years.

And again, the struggle is not to make this about my self-worth, i.e. it’s not raining money on you, so that means you don’t matter.

This has been a baby stepwise process. (Aren’t all life journeys?) I’ve talked about this before. There have been a few times that I talk to Archangel Ariel,  who is known to help with  earthly needs, and audibly ask, “What else can I do? I’ve got nothing.” Something seems to always happen: I get more time to pay something, or money shows up. I’m in a similar place this month, and I don’t know how things will be taken care of.

I’ve gone through this so many times, though. I should be a pro. But every time, I feel like this is some major test of my existence.

Somehow, faith is being grown, in this rocky, dusty soil of my life. I’m not sitting here panicking, like I usually would. I’ve had to find my worth outside of the number of friends I have, whether I feel overlooked and misunderstood or not, whether I have a job or not, whether I’ve had a car or not, whether I had a BA or not, whether I’ve been in a relationship or not.

That’s what’s being transformed in me, right now, in this cauldron of waiting and wondering and worry: these precious, priceless gems of my true worth.

 

when there’s nothing else left to say

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Winter in Switzerland – tomtown

My birthday was yesterday. It was uneventful–fortunately, and a little unfortunately. I did want to go to the beach, but there was fog and rain in the forecast. The beach is about an hour away, which is wonderful, but it’s still a little out of reach. If I’m going to drive out an hour, I’d better stay more than two hours.

So,  I stayed home, watched movies (Frozen and the music doc oasis: supersonic), drank sparkling rose, ate chocolate cake, and then learned George Michael died in his sleep. A double Cancer with a Leo moon. I’m still gutted about his death about how much I took his immaculate talent for granted, how he was so easily vulnerable in his music.

I have a job interview tomorrow at the old gig, but with different people. I feel alright about it, not too nervous, but not too confident. It’s going on 3 months of unemployment (and hey, if you want to donate to my fundraiser, click here). It’s hard to feel anything besides that I just need to do the best I can and leave it up to the Universe to say yay or nay. A sigh of a resignation is all I can give as I try to surrender a little more, resist a little less.

Having some freelance work on the side has brought a little sense of normalcy, but then I hear that godawful cough of my old ass roomie, and then I know there can be more. There must be more.

Right now, spiritually, I’m beyond tapped out. Maybe it’s more like low tide. Not much new is being brought it. There’s plenty of shit to send out, shit I don’t need anymore, mostly emotional shit.

This lack of activity and aliveness reminds me of when I left church years ago. I had heard all I needed to hear. If I was ever to return, I would need to find people who were more open to acting upon what they had heard vs. just consuming yet another meal.

This time, I’ve heard all I’ve needed to hear. The oracle cards keep repeating themselves.

One card that I have been repeatedly, and hilariously, pulling has been about music. Three times recently, I pull the card, I promptly forget about it, and then listen to music for hours. Besides the fact that noise-canceling headphones prevent me from hearing the death rattling cough of the somewhat middle-aged, somewhat senior roomie, it’s been healing to get lost in music again. I don’t know anything beyond that, whether I should find some band or be my own band. I don’t feel that compulsion. It seems more linear–music plugging into sooth my ragged emotional state. Today, I got lost in a Twitter thread about JoJo. I listened to her and got teary. That Sag lady is gifted.

I’ve heard all I’ve needed to hear, and, I’ve done all I can do. The only thing to do is patiently wait for the relief that I’ve worked hard to obtain.

This year, I’ve been lead to keep taking leaps of faith, where ultimately, I land on face–hard. And that’s life. Even for a very cautious double Capricorn that needs to calculate risk like the best actuary. This is life. The road burn on my face, on my heart, is my life, are signs of life. It doesn’t soothe me, hearing that just now, but it justifies the injuries. These are the occupational hazards of a human, living.

Even though my Cancer moon may work overtime to connect the dots of everything, this time, felt like the outcome I wanted would be immediate and apparent. It’s been neither of those things. It’s been exhausting and humiliating. Yet I got to a point yesterday that I didn’t care what happened anymore. Caring is heavy. Caring is tiring. Caring can be so Sisyphean. I was going to be fine. I’ve always been fine.

I just glossed over this feat, this accomplishment. It’s a big deal to say that I’ll be fine no matter what. It’s true. And that’s why apathy can creep in and protect me. Is this zen or a collapse? Or both? Or both.

All I know is that I did my part. That’s what comforts me, like a cozy blanket to fall asleep under.

I did my part. I did what I was told. I followed the guidance. I took the whistling kettle off the stove. I did my part. I heard you. Clearly.

Maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised, but either way, I wish I were brave or wise enough to say that it was worth it. I can’t say that now–it’s too soon to tell. Even though that this is life, that this is my life, that the hurt is a vigorous shoot pushing through the soil  of life, I still feel like I’ve been reckless, with myself. But I haven’t had any choice in it.

Even still, I’m already putting on my warm coat of disinterest and heading out the door.

I’ve got to get out of here.

As a Capricorn, I crave material security. I seemed to have only experienced it in fleeting moments this year. I haven’t been able to pin it down and really own it. It’s been crazy making the past three months. The uncertainty and the vulnerability tag team me and try to choke me out. But as I am slowly provided for, I don’t want to get all crazy with things like hope and faith, but maybe things are turning around. I’ll break out a noisemaker of cautious optimism, and then I’ll put it back under lock and key.

I can maybe trust in the pattern of change. Maybe.

As 2016 is hobbling towards its final exit on Saturday night, I feel that I’m being shrouded in a resolute, defiant silence.

I know what I want. I know what I need. They are all one in the same this time. And I know I deserve all this and more.

What else is left to say?

OK with everything 👌

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No, really! It will be!

 

A Week in Review

A lot has happened last week, but in front of the backdrop of unemployment, they all seem really banal and boring. It’s kinda hazy

I’m still avoiding #NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I wrote 22 words for it and somehow think I’ll come up with 50,000 words or more by the 30th. I don’t want to do it because the subject matter is a little too tender post-election. Being broke is distracting me from the joys of writing. I don’t even want to write this blog post, but it’s becoming a Sunday tradition to write. As a Capricorn, it seems like a distraction from the work of trying not to be broke. I really don’t like writing fiction. I tip my hat to anyone who does it well and enjoys it because it’s very hard to create a realistic world, a decent plot, fleshed out characters, and keep all those balls in the air.

I wrote a couple of articles. I applied to a few jobs. I reached out to some recruiters who never got back to me. I had a phone screen/interview where I got defensive about my last salary because I don’t think it’s anyone’s fucking business.

I finally paid the rest of my rent–very grateful. Still dreading the other bills that are languishing, like my phone bill. I hope it stays on this week.

I got groceries from Target and saved over $32! I looked on the Cartwheel app and found that I could have saved a couple of bucks more. Oof.

I applied for SNAP, again. This time, I didn’t feel any shame about it, even when my last employer had to verify the separation. They faxed over the form within the hour, which I really appreciated.

Sidenote: Shame and despair are to be avoided, at all costs. It’s one thing that I learned the hard way last month, as well as this month. Being beat up from my ongoing financial upheaval down here, I really started to take on a broke and beat down, despairing persona. Last month, I was exhausted from the hypergrind, but I was also cowering. Ironically, I really wasn’t taking care of myself, of the business of myself, because I was way too optimistic of how things would work out for me.

Moral of the story: find the middle path and find a healthy way to face your stuff.

I launched my Patreon site for this blog. You should join!

I looked up a friend who has passed on who “lead” (I guess he’s a spirit guide now) me to a blog post written by another friend of his. And this has really messed me up. He deserves a whole separate post. I’ve written about him before–and you can read that if you sign up at Patreon. It’s really intriguing and sad to read another friend’s point of view of a loved one. It was also very freeing and enlightening. I was going to write about him for this post, but it’s still too fresh, too raw, too messy. Grief is so weird and not confined to time.

I caught up on the second season of The Royals. I love that tawdry, cheeky show.

But really, overall, I really felt good last week, despite how my life isn’t going the way I want, as fast as I want. That’s really all one can hope for in life: to have one’s emotions to be separate from circumstances.

The Week Ahead

It’ll be more of the same above–talk to recruiters, apply for jobs, write a couple of articles.

I will try to sell some more clothes. Finally saying goodbye to my Chicago cold weather persona.

We leave the dark depths of Scorpio season and pack our bags and passports for the wide lands of Sagittarius season. And we thank God.

*heavy sigh*

I’m not doing anything for Thanksgiving. Beyond it being really a commemoration of genocide, I don’t have any family, “framily,” or anything like that near me. This year, I will resist self-pity imposed on society that claims I need to be with people on Thursday. I don’t need to do anything except take care of myself and not be an asshole.

But since Halloween, as we slowly dip, minute by minute, into the darkness, after we ended Daylight Savings time, it’s been a slow death march to social obligation and forced connection. Last year, I traveled a lot to see friends. This year, I probably will go to the beach for sunrise. Before that, maybe I will buy some pumpkin pie with French Vanilla Cool Whip. Perhaps, I’ll try the Publix turkey sub (holiday sub?).

Still, I may cry, because fighting loneliness isn’t a fun or fair fight. I may cry because this year has been transformative and has left me broken in more than my bank account. I may cry because I’m still so very tired of living, living like this. I may cry because existential loneliness is a constant companion that I’m still not comfortable with. I may cry because there going to be weeks and weeks of this and Thanksgiving will kick it off. I may cry because even though I had a great week last week, I’m still stuck in this house, with the guy whose coughing sounds close to vomiting, in this redneck neighborhood, in this frustrating, stifling holding pattern.

And if those tears form and fall, they will be welcomed. If the only thing I can be thankful for is crying, then I will be thankful for that. I will be thankful for being able to embrace my suffering.

I will miss the Thanksgiving spread. A lot.

Still, the freaking featured image here says “Everything Is Going to Be OK”–and the caption says, “No, really! It will be!” So, um, gotta address that.

That image comes from a book I bought some time ago. I wish I remembered when or where. The whole book has a lot of crafted images of hope and encouragement. I haven’t opened it in a while. It’s just on my bed, as a reminder.

The caption is how I feel like my own oracle and tarot card readings are affirming and reaffirming. And this is where faith lives–Spirit’s waiting room. Spirit’s womb. Spirit’s cocoon.

(OMG that rhymed.)

And this is where faith is planted, sprouts, grows, and lives–between what I see and what I can’t see. One message I keep getting this month is about a financial windfall, or a job promotion. I laugh when I see these messages, like how Sarah from the Bible laughed when God said she’d bear a son in her very old age. Inconceivable! I look at my bank account balance: $2.34. My five loaves and two fishes.

But I am reminded that life has been so much worse, though.  I’m still housed. I still have my car. I am clear-headed and strong. I’m stubborn as hell.

Still, my laughter is heavily laced with incredulity.

I’m also befuddled. Show me the money, honey? Where is it? These messages of golden opportunities are also coming from other people, people I don’t know. YouTube videos of people giving tarot, oracle, and crystal readings. Readings I have requested from friends.

I don’t need to do anything differently. I just need to keep on, keepin’ on.

I need to hear this, and yet I laugh. When I don’t hear those messages, then I wonder if I’ve been abandoned by the Universe.

Another is that everything will be OK. It’s hard to hear. I feel like I’m being teased still. When has everything been OK? Then I have to ask, what is “everything?” It’s clearly not my bank account, my employment status, my marital status, my home address, the number of local friends I have–all the things that I wish were better, that I work on every day to change.

Even though I’ve written some really sad stuff here, I say this as an observer. One thing a friend mentioned to me while we were talking about Mercury Retrograde (which starts on December 19th, but you may start feeling some of those effects soon) is this great quote from the Dalai Lama:

If a problem can be fixed, there’s no use worrying. If it can’t be fixed, there’s no use worrying. –The Dalai Lama

Maybe, circumstantially, things will get worse before they get better. The darkest before the dawn. Impaled in the back by 10 swords like the 10 of Swords tarot card. Or, at the very least, I won’t get what I want when I want (hell, NEED) it. Maybe I won’t work until the New Year. Maybe my phone will get shut off. I’m scared, also, that I’m going to write this same sort of post for the next few weeks–I hope not! It’s all to say that although I’d welcome a miracle, usually life is a second by second unfolding. That requires patience that I usually don’t have. It is being worked in and through me.

I’m scared, also, that I’m going to write this same sort of post of holding on for dear life for the next few weeks–I hope not! It’s all to say that although I’d welcome a miracle, usually life is a second by second unfolding. That requires patience that I usually don’t have.

I wish I could be on a spiritual Neptunian cloud and just transcend this. I wish I could just automatically trust that things will be OK. But you know how I am about this journey through the mud. It’s one step at a time. I can’t think beyond today, and not in a fun “Oh, I can’t wait for this to be over!” way.

So. It’s probably going to be that I am going to be OK with everything, to be able to accept life as it is. Can I trust that the Universe has my back? For a few seconds at a time, yes. I know that this has been the ultimate lesson in my time down here in Florida, and with my whole life. I am sure that as I was being born, I had to rely on the Universe to bring me into the world safely (long story short: mom passed out due to a funky epidural, so she wasn’t even awake for my birth).

As an observer of my life, I can sit in the cozy knowledge that I’m doing the best I can, even if the circumstances don’t instantly change. I’m learning not to take them personally. I can watch it happen without getting as emotionally involved. Going through this financial crisis a third time, I feel different. This is a different time, a different season of my life. If I hit rock bottom again, it won’t crush me like it did the last two times.

I won’t let it. It’s like I turned a corner, into the light, and

I turned a corner, into the light, and this post seems to crystalize when and how that happened.

Hope isn’t a lighthouse, and I’m miles away from shore. It’s being stranded alone on a dark road and finally seeing headlights a few hundred feet away.

And I’m waving my arms like crazy, hoping that help has finally arrived.

If you want to help me out during this time, you can donate to cash.me  or paypal.me. Thank you in advance! If you’re interested in how I can help you with your writing needs, let’s talk really soon.

Shadowboxing with my fears

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Back in the same ring again, battling the same opponent: fear.

Specifically, I could say it’s financial upheaval, the foe. I look at my bank account and wince. $86. Rent is half paid. I pushed off paying for my car and my phone. Unemployment payments haven’t been doled out yet. If I were a tarot card, I’d be a 2 of Pentacles juggling act of worry and dread.

To even put all this stress in the context of the recent Presidential election–I don’t even have the headspace or heartspace to process how that can adversely affect me. I know it’s not helping.

I was thinking earlier today how I ended up here, again. While I was washing dishes this morning, I went all the way back to 20 years ago, about where I chose to go college. Maybe I should have gone to University of Alabama (Roll Tide!). But then I wouldn’t haven’t been the me that I am now, for sure. And I love and adore her. So, no regrets. I needed to leave my family’s upheaval, which was financial and legal, that only worsened when I lived in Chicago. What my family went through has been nipping at my heels. As immigrants, we burned the maps, burned the ships, and we don’t really have a safety net. I’ve tried to weave one, and the knots keeps slipping.

Still, even with those challenges, I don’t have to go back too far to figure out how I ended up here. Coming to Florida, to become a writer, has been a sacrifice, especially of pride. Pretty much everything that could go wrong, went wrong. But it was the pursuit of a dream, a dream I had as a kid and temporarily discarded because it was impractical. So no regrets about that either.

But the hits keep coming. Last month, I had a hotel fleece me about $160 when I was fleeing Hurricane Matthew (long story, but do not stay at a Days Inn unless you want to lose extra money and deal with evil people). I’ve had little blips like that while walking on this tightrope above certain doom. They shake the rope, causing me to wobble and fall. I hang on by fingertips and fingernails. I get back on and start to walk again, to the other side, towards stability. It seems so far away, but then I know that this is temporary. I will get through this, like I always do–even if I’m tired of my own resiliency.

I have not had a permanent job in the four years and counting I’ve been here. It’s all been contract-based. Today, I just got turn down for a job where I had the most hostile interview. I am pissed that I went through that experience and I am pissed that I wasn’t chosen for a wage that I haven’t made in over a decade. It was going to be, hopefully, a side job. Looks like the Universe has other plans. I’m kinda grateful for that, but only kinda, because my pride is a little wounded.

As I watch the story of my life unfold, I still hold my breath. I’m still not sure if this protagonist is actually going to make it. I’m rooting like hell for that person, for me. Over the years, I’ve learned to be my loudest, craziest cheerleader.

And it’s not like the Universe isn’t cheering for me, either. In my own personal tarot and oracle readings, I keep receiving such encouraging messages, about releasing worry, that this season of my life is over (The World in tarot), that love is coming soon. I need to hear this, because my circumstances look like it’s a repeat performance of this time in 2013 (eviction), and 2014 (kinda eviction). This Cancer moon does not want to move unless it’s to a better place!

Well, maybe this is a repeat performance. My landlady is a social worker. So last Friday, I spoke to her as a former social worker, and as someone who has faced hard times before. She’s giving me a break–

but then I’m in the ring, hyperventilating and sweating, boxing against the fears of financial ruin, of homelessness, of existential stress: why the fuck am I here? Why is this happening again? Why am I doing this alone, again?

Almost. Recruiters are calling me almost daily. That’s never happened to me in my life. There’s a job that I really want that I saw and will apply for soon. Through a friend, I talked to one of the employees there. That’s never happened to me, either. I have a phone screen interview next Tuesday for another job.

There. Is. Movement. And. Momentum.

Not quite. I have this tiny little job where I write content for clients. It pays shit, but at least my writing chops are being kept sharp. I’m planting seeds for repeat clients.

 

Things aren’t going the way I want to, in the timing that I want (yesterday), or how the way I want (super duper easy). But for now, I’m still housed, I still have my car, with gas in it, with insurance. My phone is still on. And I’m grateful that this time, someone gave me a break and things are breaking open for me this month.  I know it’s because through these repeated fights in the ring with fear, I’m different, and I’ve learned a little bit about how fear operates. Now I can land a couple of good punches on fear, even when it tag teams with despair. Writing this blog post is a punch landed on my fears.

And while I fight these decades-long fears of poverty and instability, I have to focus on gratitude, so I can stay upright, so I can dodge those punches. I have to tell my double Capricorn self that I am doing enough, that I can rest once in a while. I must have the courage to not worry, the bravery to ask for help– even if resounding silence is the response, and the guts to tell despair to fuck off.

If you want to help me out this month, here are a few ways:

  1. cash.me/$beelicious
  2. paypal.me/deb88
  3. Patreon–I will have that up in a few days. I’ll let you know soon!
  4. I am a writer and I can write all sorts of things. Let me know how I can help you.
  5. If you like my writing, pass my blog along!
  6. Send good vibes and pray.

The roller coaster mystery

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I’ve been on a roller coaster of emotions, mainly in and out of despair.

This season of my life has been about trusting the Universe, and I suck at it. It’s OK that I suck at it because eventually, I’ll get better at it, and maybe teach others how to do it without sounding sanctimonious and shrill.

The despair corkscrew turns, though, have been quicker and easier to get through. I don’t spend that much time in them, catastrophizing the worst because I’ve already been through the worst. And if the worst happens again, berating myself for not being positive enough is not going to help me, period. Ironically, and thankfully, I use that hostile energy and transmute it to some desperately needed self-compassion.

know where I’ve been. I know my scars. I know how to love me best.

Even if I think outside of the need to be right, the intention of wanting better for others can sound really…not like that. Spirituality is not as formulaic and easy as we Westerners make it out to be. I’ll write about this another time, but the mystery of faith and spirituality cannot be found in some pithy sayings or programs.

I usually have some semblance of a map for my life. I like seeing the whole forest of my life. I know the paths I should take, and even with obstacles, eventually I will get there. On this leg of my journey, I have to go step by step. It’s a theme in my life down here, of wanting to know 10 steps ahead but only being able to see the step head.

The trees for the forest. Only one piece of a map. Fog rolling in and out. The trees start to morph into different trees. The path becomes impassable. You keep going anyway.

The frenetic pace of life slows to walking speed, even with the internal cries of “How will this bill be paid?” start to drown out the hope and strength I’ve grown into and have fought for. I can’t go any faster than–apply for this job. Talk to this person. Read this. Meditate. Pray. Continue to ask for help. Be patient, be patient, for fuck’s sake–be patient.

Even as I get sick from being dunked in the pits of despairs while being brought up to the mountaintops of hope, this is how it goes. The mucking about, figuring it out, the stumbling, the clawing, the crawling, and even sometimes the running…the up and down on the roller coaster–you don’t escape it. You embrace it, as much as you can.

I suck at embracing the roller coaster mystery, too. But eventually, the exhaustion of being vigilant, of trying to figure it out all at once so I can feel safe, of trying to pick the outcomes I want–it’s all caught up to me and laid me out.

It’s not upsetting, though–I’m relieved. I have a little smidgen of peace that I can hold. In this moment, all is well. My mind wants to list all the things in my life and in the world that are not well, but it’s really true–even if my mind doesn’t want to agree. Like the well-meaning naysayers, my mind wants me to be safe. But we can’t control (for) everything. Your best is good enough and my best is good enough. You can’t quit the ride. You hang on.

The ride never ends. You just get better at handling the turns.