Write On

I’m learning, ever so slowly, how to focus on my inner urge - that vibe that tells me when I’m close to something important, something big.

It arouses my senses. I hear the thump of my heart - feel the pressure of its pulse on my skin. Sometimes it’s a slow, low, heavy vibe that sits in the base of my throat. Other times it races to the point where I’m dizzy - my palms sweat and my body shakes.

It flows to me and through me. It’s become my own personal guidance system. It defies logic; I sense that it is something greater than me.

It’s almost as though…do I dare say it, it aligns me with my life’s true purpose - not that I know what THAT is, not yet - but I know I’m on the right path.

More often than not, this means to do what scares me. Not impulsive dare devil stunts, (although I’ve done my far share of those) but to challenge myself by engaging in things I fear I am incapable of doing.

To the top of my blog, on the right hand side, under the picture of the green monkey I write, “...this is my first step in believing in myself.” Prior to becoming a blogger, my fear of failing made it almost impossible for me to share anything I wrote.

I knew writing was important to me, evident by the fact that I’ve kept my last 3 high school English assignment from 1977 – a story about apathy in school students, desegregating through busing, and the correlation between hyperactivity and sugar. I have no idea if I chose these subjects or if they were handed to me, but even though I received an A for all 3 assignments, I still didn’t have the confidence to continue writing.

The more I write the more at peace I am with myself, and the less I judge myself. The more I write the more I am able to focus on a moment.  There appears to be a valuable lesson in each of my experiences and interactions; whether they are exciting, mundane, good, bad, or indifferent. I just need to calm myself enough to watch and to listen.

Of course, there is still this internal counter pull that challenges me. For example, I just dropped a sock in the toilet, what is THAT supposed to mean? I was high on thought (a new favorite phrase of mine) and not focused on my actions. Okay, I had to dip my hand into a toilet that had not been cleaned in a week – but the sock was dirty, on its way to be washed – it simply jumped ahead of me. Its more humorous than infuriating, don’t you think?

I’m learning to listen to how I feel, instead of worrying about what people feel about me. I have no control over others, only of myself. I’m learning how to align and balance myself before reacting in conversation or behavior. How DID that make you feel Shannon, when the crossing cop blew his whistle and hollered “STOP LADY!” Embarrassed, infuriated, outraged - really, why?

I’m also learning how to laugh at myself. I am highly entertained by my inner dialog and can often be seen laughing out loud - for no apparent, external reason. Some might assume I’m insane, taken a fast track course to the wild side, again….they are in charge of their own thoughts, I’m taking charge of  mine.

Regardless of the little annoyances that occasionally surround me; I sense that the big stuff, the collective consciousness, is whirling independently all around me - enticing me to creatively align myself with it.

I used to think my business could not thrive without me yet its doing rather well now that I’ve stopped trying to micromanage the unmanageable. There are lots of super capable people in this world and they too are following their own path. Not only did I find them, I have aligned myself with them. Some of them are coworkers, others are neighbors and friends. On top of all that my key support system, my family, has jumped on board. It’s as though our souls knew and gravitated toward each other way before we agreed to be on this earth.

Sometimes my mind gets in the way. If I think about things too hard, for too long, it stifles me. The fear of what if, or if only, ONLY creates caution and confusion. I now mindfully expect things to work out. I no longer live in a state of doom and gloom. I’ve even been known to jump, impulsively, when it feels right and I typically do so with my eyes shut – leaping in without thoroughly researching or planning for negative variables.

The first time I did this was when I made the decision to go to Burning Man. WHAT….attend a hippy fest, free-for-all in the desert? This was so NOT my idea of fun. Even so, I knew it was supposed to go and I knew my son was guiding me.

Instead of an artsy dysfunctional rumpus, littered with raves and drug induced fornication (not that there is anything wrong with that), I found healing and soul and heart. I found peace. I found forgiveness. I stopped clinging to my guilt – as though it was all I had left of my son.

The more I let go, the more I grew, and the more I wrote.

My most recent example of letting go is when I took part in a National Legislative Institute in Washington, DC.- a forum that focused on suicide prevention in adolescents, college students, elderly, and military personnel. I joined representatives from all over the country, with one thing in common - we all lost someone we love to suicide.

I felt totally out of my comfort zone. I don’t like to follow, nor do I like to be told what to do – instead I prefer to find my own path. Once again, I was scared and when I’m scared all I want to do is make myself smaller.

To prepare for this event, I focused on the only elements I felt I could control – my wardrobe. I analyzed what was current, what was practical, and what was professional. Armed with perky pumps, a form fitting suit, a photo of my son, a folder of information, and fierce determination - I pranced up and down Capitol Hill, meeting with Senate representatives, Congressman and their aides.

I told them how I was grieving for one, but there are now hundreds of thousands I now mourn for.

We made a great team and I was proud to be part of the Connecticut delegation. I returned home feeling very proud of myself and also feeling very powerful, after experiencing "we the people" for the first time, first hand.

In the end, my feet were sore, my suit was tight, but my endeavors left me riding high.

I must tell you that the main reason I went to Washington was not to educate, enlighten or instruct - it was to align myself with Esmeralda.

I was introduced to Esmeralda by way of a New York Times article. It was forwarded to me by my daughter in law Mary – my son’s fiancé. The article portrayed a woman who had experienced my deepest, darkest fear - the loss of  two children. One from SIDs (sudden infant death syndrome), the other from suicide.

As much as her reality scared me, I felt an inner urge to connect with her. Together we set off to Washington and more importantly reignited a parallel path of enlightenment.

I’m not certain where it will take us, but I know we are a powerful force and we will both shine. To quote Esmeralda, "suicide picked the wrong mother(s) to mess with!"

Four days after returning from Washington, a massive storm hit our coastal community. Heavy winds and rain created a vortex of chaos and confusion. The Governor declared a state of emergency, schools were closed, 90% of the town was without power and we were powerless, and I thought...yep, I get it....I know who's really in charge!

Once again, “we the people” reacted. Some got involved, others selfishly bitched and stomped their feet, and others hid.

My inner urge pulled me into action. Even though I was scared, with great intention I challenged my physical and emotional obstacles.  I watched as my deliberate, direction of thought created a positive reaction. A combustion of The Power of Now and The Power of Positive Thinking.

I came out of the storm with a deep appreciative for what surrounds me - knowing that first there is thought, then thought form, then reality.

It's 70 degrees today and sunny. The breeze is calm, the water has receded. I'm relaxing, reflecting and wondering - with fond and heightened expectations - what will tomorrow bring.

Where ever it takes me, I'll know I created it, and I will continue to write on…

Green Monkey Tales © 2010 Shannon E. Kennedy

photo's courtesy of Google Images