The Lives of the Dead

Some of the most interesting people I meet are dead…

Archive for the category “Spirituality”

Stranger in a Strange Land

First published Oct 11, 2014.

 

indiginous

Je

I was born among my people on land we had lived upon since the beginning of time. I was bound to that land through my soul.  I lived many, many lives there.

I knew all the trees by name. The paths through the woods had been worn deeper into the earth by my feet, over thousands of years.

I knew the place in the river where it curves around a sharp bend.  The fish got trapped there.  They were easy to catch. I knew the warrens of the rabbits  — the entrance hidden between the roots of a large tree or under a large, moss-covered rock. I knew where to set my traps. I never went hungry.  I knew every plant, nut and berry and which of them were edible, medicinal, intoxicating.

I knew every landmark; the way the silhouette of the hills cleaved the sky from every angle. I always knew how far I was from home.  I could walk for days and never get lost.

Everything I had ever seen or tasted or touched or heard or smelled had been of that land.   My parents were born there.  My grandparents were both there,  and theirs, and theirs, and theirs.   I was married there.  I had children there.  And everything they had ever seen or tasted or touched or heard or smelled had been of that land.

It was not a paradise.  Life was hard.  But it was our life.  We were characters in the same story as the land.  Inseparable.  Our histories, intertwined. To take one from the other would be to destroy both.

And then, eventually,  the Strangers came.  I was a grown child before I ever saw one with my own eyes.  But slowly,  like stalking a deer,  they drew closer in increments so small we barely noticed.

Soon there were borders which were not allowed to cross; where we were not allowed to hunt.   They would not bother us as long as we stayed on our side.  But they kept pressing forward,  encircling us,  drawing the noose tighter.  We were being strangled but we were too small a group to put up much of a fight.

Eventually,   they took us all to a place far, far away. There were many different people there, speaking languages I did not understand.  It seemed there were many who did not understand each other.

I did not understand this land.  It was dry and dusty.  There were no forests.  There were no streams or rivers anywhere.  There were no hills.   Just ugly, flat, colorless dust for as far as my eyes could see. I hated it instantly.  I was resentful and angry.  I had been forcibly removed from my past.  I no longer felt whole. I knew as long as I lived there I never would.

Some tried to live outside our forced settlement,  but it was nearly impossible to survive.  It was a world so different, so strange from the ones we had known. We had no skills; did not understand their customs or their ways.   At least within the settlement,  we were with others in the same predicament.  For the benefit of all, each People tried to put aside their ancestral differences with others,  so we might all work as one.

The elders knew immediately this would be the end of all of us.  In order to survive, it would be necessary to give up some of our past identity and forge a new identity.   If we were unwilling to do that, if we insisted on clinging to the old ways,  if we wasted our energy to getting back to the old lands which no longer existed as we once knew them, we would have been too divided and too weak to survive in the face of the Strangers.  We needed a single, strong, united voice.

Positions of power went to those from warrior Peoples.  My People were small in number and not known for their bravery against the Strangers. It was natural that we all put our faith in the mightiest warriors of all.

But,  in the end,  none of it did any good. Our weapons and tactics were ultimately useless against them.

The old ways are gone.  Some rituals and stories remain of course, but now, disconnected from the land, they no longer make sense. The food and methods of cooking are lost, because we could not find what we needed in our new land.  We lost our cures, our intoxicants, our aphrodisiacs.

We survived, but we did not thrive.

It had always been the duty of all elders to teach the young ones their People’s history, traditions, language,  culture and skills.   But now,  what did it matter?  Many elders realized this knowledge was not useful for the new world.  We needed to learn a common language so we could communicate with other People.  We needed to learn new skills for new land with new rules. What was the point of passing on valuable information such as the best place in the river to catch fish,  or the best place to set a trap for rabbit,  when that river and that mossy rock were half a continent away? (Nobody knew exactly how far,  but certainly a walk of many moons.)

There was no going back.  The elders were without hope.  Most,  like myself, who remembered the land eventually died lost and heartbroken,  with wounds to our souls that never healed.

The younger ones took to changes more readily,  more willingly.  For them, it was an adventure.  They didn’t have such long memories.

They had fewer psychic wounds but they also grew up without traditions and stories that bound them to their spiritual past, without the reassuring knowledge that they stood upon the land upon which they were born and to which they belonged.

They had no ambition for anything for what could they aspire to?

Some took on the ways of the Strangers.  I did not blame them.  They needed something to fill the huge gaping voids inside themselves.

If the old stories don’t work, find new ones.  So they discovered Jesus. They learned to read and write and count many things.  They learned the ways of the Strangers so they could interact with them and perhaps find some advantage.

But even with this, they were not accepted outside.

And so, all the Peoples are not really People at all anymore. They are the children of People and Strangers. It is impossible to be anything else.   They live in two worlds and will never again be whole.

I am grateful that many still have pride in who they are, in who we were.  It is good to know that the People still endure.

—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne22

Manipulator of Men

first published May 28, 2014

Golden Egg

 

Et

When I was young, I never met a man I didn’t want to manipulate. I was a beautiful child and grew into a beautiful young woman. My family was not at all rich but I quickly learned that I could get more of the little I had by playing a feminine game of misdirection: Make a man think he was going to get something from me, take whatever he offered in order to win those favors, and extricate myself cleverly before I had to pay the piper.

Finally, it came time for me to marry, because I knew I could not continue this way forever. My charms would not stay fresh indefinitely. I had to find a man who would give me what I wanted without being strong enough to demand too much in return. A rich son was the perfect fool, and he kept me comfortable for a long time. I was mostly faithful to him because I never gave away my favors cheaply. I did, however, use my charm on other men to get whatever my husband couldn’t give me; these other men were social conduits who helped me gain the spotlight.

I did have children, and I loved them in my way, but mainly they were also useful as a anchor around my husband’s neck.   Once the children came, he would not, could not leave me.

Over the years, I became used to him. He wasn’t a bad man. He provided well for me and my children. He was a good father.   I didn’t hate him or take pleasure in humiliating him, as did some women – even those far more “respectable” than I.   I valued his position in the community and was always discreet so as not to shame him, either privately or publicly, although people sometimes talked. They could prove nothing, so I ignored them.

I was already old when he died. I’d long lost my beauty, and had settled in to a comfortable and relatively content life. This became possible by readjusting my lofty goals to those more realistic. My number one priority was no longer being the center of attention.   It took me a long time to get to that point, but it’s good I finally learned it. At least I won’t have walk that path again.

 

 

—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

The Stain

first published May 25, 2014

Sen

Sometimes you see something so horrific, it eats at you for several lifetimes. It changes your essence in a fundamental way. Ultimately this takes you to a higher level, where you are more compassionate, but it is still a scar on the infinite soul.

Of course, we must not hide ourselves from the truth, but it is nevertheless deeply disturbing to see, even from a distance, that humans can be so brutal.   It doesn’t matter if you’re the victim, the aggressor or merely a witness. The stain is the same.

****

me:

I wonder again,  are these ghosts, spirits talking to me? Or are these stories just thoughts and emotions bubbling up from my own psyche? Can it be proven either way?  If it could be proven that these narrators are just manifestations of my own unconscious mind,  might it not also be possible that such thoughts were placed in my unconscious by energies beyond myself?  Or,  even more trippy,  that the energy inside myself is one and the same as the energy outside myself?

I might be delusional or I might be incredibly spiritually receptive.  Like Schrodinger’s cat, these possibilities exist at once.

Is there a difference,  generally speaking, between a prophet and a lunatic?   Perhaps there isn’t one.  Or perhaps only a porous wall separates them.  Or maybe the truth is in eye of the beholder.

A skeptic might hold up Jim Jones as an example of a lunatic masquerading as a prophet.  A believer, on the other hand,  might argue that drinking the Kool-Aid and dying en masse was the spiritual destiny of those people; that the value of the lessons they learned along that path only became apparent on the other side.   In that case,  Jones was, indeed, their prophet.

I don’t expect I will ever know the answers to these questions.  I just find them interesting to ask.

—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Not Right in the Head

First published Oct 22, 2016 mentalillness-450x300

Vil

There was a label affixed to me all my life: crazy.  I behaved in ways that were considered abnormal. I burst into tears in the midst of laughter, and laughed at inappropriate moments. I became angry at things that were imperceptible to others. I would sometimes overreact dramatically to  insignificant experiences.

I was difficult to live with. When I was around, there was no calm. I tried the patience of everyone, and except for my family who did their best to tolerate me, I had few relationships and no real friends.

Perhaps in a more tolerant place, in a more tolerant culture, I would have been accepted enough to have some kind of life, but I lived in lonely despair, on the outside of society.

My emotions were unrelated to reality. Those familiar with my strangeness kept their distance; they never knew what might spring the hair-trigger trap.   A glance that lingered too long might set me off screaming, hurling epithets, maybe even lashing out violently.  A word that seemed innocent to others might cause me to break down in tears or curl up into a fetal knot, rocking myself to whatever small measure of comfort I could manage.

I could feel the emotion building inside me — big, powerful, explosive emotion — and I had no control over it.

I was not stupid, but it was hard to focus on learning when every moment was a struggle to maintain equilibrium. If I relaxed my vigilance for even a second, I could easily fall apart. It was exhausting.

I did not work but I received money from my family and a small stipend from the state, and was able to live in a tiny room by myself. It was better for everyone that I lived alone.

Many odd little rituals helped keep my mood level — not all the time of course, but at least for hours, sometimes even weeks on end. I woke up at the same time every day, ate the exact same thing for breakfast, wore the same clothes the same on the same day of the week.

I did my best to steer clear of strangers and they instinctively steered clear of me, but sometimes interactions were unavoidable.  Maybe somebody pushed past me on the street or cut in front of me at the market.  In these situations, I’d try to leave as quickly as possible before the emotions erupted. But if it was a bad day, if I was stressed by other things, I might not make it.  I might react in ways that were inappropriate.  I once screamed and ranted at a small child because he rode too close to me on his bicycle, frightening him and causing him to cry.  In moments like these, I hated myself.

In those moments when I could not calm myself, I had no restraint, even knowing I’d pay for my actions — cursing at the grocer,  shoving a neighbor, throwing and breaking my own possessions.

To the surprise of my family,  I lived to be quite old,  with the responsibility for my care passing from my parents to my siblings to their children.

None of them mourned too much when I finally passed over, but they were finally able to find some compassion.

 

—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Stranger in a Strange Land

First published Oct 11, 2014.

Note:  This abuse of Native Americans by the U.S. government continues to this day.  The Navajo Nation has suffered more deaths from Covid19 than most other US states (as of 5/15/20.  That might change.)  The American government’s purposeful disregard for what’s happening on reservations around the country, where lack of running water is common,  is the modern day equivalent of small pox blankets. https://navajotimes.com/coronavirus-updates/covid-death-toll-spikes-cases-near-4000/ 

–aeg, May 15, 2020

_____


indiginous

Je

I was born among my people on land we had lived upon since the beginning of time. I was bound to that land through my soul.  I lived many, many lives there.

I knew all the trees by name. The paths through the woods had been worn deeper into the earth by my feet, over thousands of years.

I knew the place in the river where it curves around a sharp bend.  The fish got trapped there.  They were easy to catch. I knew the warrens of the rabbits  — the entrance hidden between the roots of a large tree or under a large, moss-covered rock. I knew where to set my traps. I never went hungry.  I knew every plant, nut and berry and which of them were edible, medicinal, intoxicating.

I knew every landmark; the way the silhouette of the hills cleaved the sky from every angle. I always knew how far I was from home.  I could walk for days and never get lost.

Everything I had ever seen or tasted or touched or heard or smelled had been of that land.   My parents were born there.  My grandparents were both there,  and theirs, and theirs, and theirs.   I was married there.  I had children there.  And everything they had ever seen or tasted or touched or heard or smelled had been of that land.

It was not a paradise.  Life was hard.  But it was our life.  We were characters in the same story as the land.  Inseparable.  Our histories, intertwined. To take one from the other would be to destroy both.

And then, eventually,  the Strangers came.  I was a grown child before I ever saw one with my own eyes.  But slowly,  like stalking a deer,  they drew closer in increments so small we barely noticed.

Soon there were borders which were not allowed to cross; where we were not allowed to hunt.   They would not bother us as long as we stayed on our side.  But they kept pressing forward,  encircling us,  drawing the noose tighter.  We were being strangled but we were too small a group to put up much of a fight.

Eventually,   they took us all to a place far, far away. There were many different people there, speaking languages I did not understand.  It seemed there were many who did not understand each other.

I did not understand this land.  It was dry and dusty.  There were no forests.  There were no streams or rivers anywhere.  There were no hills.   Just ugly, flat, colorless dust for as far as my eyes could see. I hated it instantly.  I was resentful and angry.  I had been forcibly removed from my past.  I no longer felt whole. I knew as long as I lived there I never would.

Some tried to live outside our forced settlement,  but it was nearly impossible to survive.  It was a world so different, so strange from the ones we had known. We had no skills; did not understand their customs or their ways.   At least within the settlement,  we were with others in the same predicament.  For the benefit of all, each People tried to put aside their ancestral differences with others,  so we might all work as one.

The elders knew immediately this would be the end of all of us.  In order to survive, it would be necessary to give up some of our past identity and forge a new identity.   If we were unwilling to do that, if we insisted on clinging to the old ways,  if we wasted our energy to getting back to the old lands which no longer existed as we once knew them, we would have been too divided and too weak to survive in the face of the Strangers.  We needed a single, strong, united voice.

Positions of power went to those from warrior Peoples.  My People were small in number and not known for their bravery against the Strangers. It was natural that we all put our faith in the mightiest warriors of all.

But,  in the end,  none of it did any good. Our weapons and tactics were ultimately useless against them.

The old ways are gone.  Some rituals and stories remain of course, but now, disconnected from the land, they no longer make sense. The food and methods of cooking are lost, because we could not find what we needed in our new land.  We lost our cures, our intoxicants, our aphrodisiacs.

We survived, but we did not thrive.

It had always been the duty of all elders to teach the young ones their People’s history, traditions, language,  culture and skills.   But now,  what did it matter?  Many elders realized this knowledge was not useful for the new world.  We needed to learn a common language so we could communicate with other People.  We needed to learn new skills for new land with new rules. What was the point of passing on valuable information such as the best place in the river to catch fish,  or the best place to set a trap for rabbit,  when that river and that mossy rock were half a continent away? (Nobody knew exactly how far,  but certainly a walk of many moons.)

There was no going back.  The elders were without hope.  Most,  like myself, who remembered the land eventually died lost and heartbroken,  with wounds to our souls that never healed.

The younger ones took to changes more readily,  more willingly.  For them, it was an adventure.  They didn’t have such long memories.

They had fewer psychic wounds but they also grew up without traditions and stories that bound them to their spiritual past, without the reassuring knowledge that they stood upon the land upon which they were born and to which they belonged.

They had no ambition for anything for what could they aspire to?

Some took on the ways of the Strangers.  I did not blame them.  They needed something to fill the huge gaping voids inside themselves.

If the old stories don’t work, find new ones.  So they discovered Jesus. They learned to read and write and count many things.  They learned the ways of the Strangers so they could interact with them and perhaps find some advantage.

But even with this, they were not accepted outside.

And so, all the Peoples are not really People at all anymore. They are the children of People and Strangers. It is impossible to be anything else.   They live in two worlds and will never again be whole.

I am grateful that many still have pride in who they are, in who we were.  It is good to know that the People still endure.

—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne22

Rarefied

First published May 28, 2016

mountaintop

Arj

Looking back, if I have anything to apologize for, it’s that never apologized for anything. I did what I wanted, what I had to. If people were hurt or inconvenienced by the way I lived, this was their problem to solve. I couldn’t be responsible for the feelings or well-being of others. Should I have pulled back on the reigns of my ambition for fear of stepping on the toes of those who did not want to win as badly as I? Should I have kept promises which no longer suited me, for fear of shattering someone else’s dreams? (Simply being able to shatter the dreams of others made me feel powerful!)   Should I have allowed myself be weak so as to give space to those who were not as strong?  To do any of those things would have compromised who I was and who I was determined to become.

Others hesitated for such sentimental reasons, and consequently lost ground. Greatness requires a monomaniacal fixation on the prize.   One misstep, one falsely placed trust, one momentary glance away from the path, and it might all crumble; the fractured shatters of ambition tramped upon indifferently, like long-neglected Roman ruins.

The best game is at the top. There you meet others who are as good and as determined as you are. Maybe more so.  Players are steeled for a fight to the death. Dying is better than achieving that height without finally taking the prize.   Each, willing to die for the glory of standing in the rarefied air at the top of the peak. Each, willing to kill for the privilege of being able to look down and survey the land below, knowing everything and everyone belongs to you.

It was in this struggle that I felt most alive.

The urge drove me like a ravenous, heartless beast.

Most humans don’t have the stomach for this game. They do their best to stay out of the way of people like me. Little fish, schooling together, believing that in numbers and anonymity, they will better their odds of surviving the inevitable shark attack.

Most, even those with a fair amount of ambition, are limited by their unwillingness to sacrifice everything else in order to play The Big Game. They are unwilling to take what they want. Only those who take, get.  They are unwilling to compromise their so-called morals.

I had only one moral: Win at any cost.

And so I did.

I lived for years at the top of the mountain, self-glorified and in absolute belief that I was deserving of my lofty place. I never fell from grace; I died of old age at the pinnacle.

Only then did I understand what I had missed by not living in the valley below.

 

—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

The Game of Life

NEW

 

This week,   John Horton Conway, a world-renown mathematician,  (Oxford University, Princeton) passed away of Covid19.  His obituary prompted me to check his Wikipedia page, and from there I went down the rabbit hole, reading about  his “Game of Life”.   Rather than being  what we normally think of as a game with players and  winners and losers,  it’s more a mathematical construct.  I doubt the title was mean to infer anything spiritual;  rather it demonstrates that a random group of “seed cells” will self-organize and create a sort of “living” program. However, to me,  it seems to be a perfect metaphor for a theory of my own.  Stick with me, here…

I don’t pretend to understand the entire concept,  but this is what I understand, in a nutshell:  The “game” begins with random filled/unfilled pixels on a computer grid.  These cells, depending on whether they are filled in or blank, are considered either “alive” or “dead” [or “populated” or “unpopulated”].  There are certain rules to this zero player game (as it’s called) and these rules affect the way the cells interact with the adjacent cells,  and that in turn governs the way they behave and self-organize from that point on.

From Wikipedia:

The universe of the Game of Life is an infinite, two-dimensional orthogonal grid of square cells, each of which is in one of two possible states, alive or dead, (or populated and unpopulated, respectively). Every cell interacts with its eight neighbors, which are the cells that are horizontally, vertically, or diagonally adjacent. At each step in time, the following transitions occur:

    1. Any live cell with fewer than two live neighbors dies, as if by underpopulation.
    2. Any live cell with two or three live neighbors lives on to the next generation.
    3. Any live cell with more than three live neighbors dies, as if by overpopulation.
    4. Any dead cell with exactly three live neighbors becomes a live cell, as if by reproduction.

These rules, which compare the behavior of the automaton to real life, can be condensed into the following:

    1. Any live cell with two or three live neighbors survives.
    2. Any dead cell with three live neighbors becomes a live cell.
    3. All other live cells die in the next generation. Similarly, all other dead cells stay dead.

The initial pattern constitutes the seed of the system. The first generation is created by applying the above rules simultaneously to every cell in the seed; births and deaths occur simultaneously, and the discrete moment at which this happens is sometimes called a tick. Each generation is a pure function of the preceding one. The rules continue to be applied repeatedly to create further generations.

I’ve been thinking/talking/writing about the following notion for many years.  Initially, I saw it as fractals patterns — and there certainly is quite a bit of that in this idea.   But as soon as I read about the Game of Life,  I realized what a far better analogy it is.  There are those who say it “God is in mathematics, and I’m beginning to understand why.

We are each born into a specific set of conditions which define us:  physical and mental attributes, talents, tragic flaws, our family (its social status, educational level, religion, our pecking order among siblings), our community, our culture, the zeitgeist, and so on.   To a large degree, these conditions constrain and define us as we encounter obstacles and take the advantages offered to us.  These conditions, taken as a whole,  cause us to think and behave in a certain way, which in turn shapes our path in life.

I do not believe this set of conditions is random.  I believe that in the time between lives,  our higher self assesses our previous lifetimes, and ascertains what we need to learn/overcome in the next lifetime in order to ascend to higher levels of consciousness.   But sending our soul/consciousness into a new physical body is a bit like Moses’ mother sending him off in a basket down the Nile.   Our higher self can only aim us in the right direction and hope for the best, because once we enter a new human body, it no longer has control.  Very few people remember their past lives or the time between lives.  (Often one CAN remember while undergoing past life regression hypnosis,  but most people do not recall past lives spontaneously, without assistance.)

How can our higher self be assured that when it sends our consciousness into a new body, that this human will encounter/interact with the necessary challenges which need to be addressed to attain greater understanding?  The best our higher self can do is to inject our soul into a situation that will best present us with the experiences we need to have, allow us to meet the people (or types of people) we need to meet,  come face to face with the problems we need to overcome, confront the kind of suffering we need to go through.  Our higher selves can only hope that once we are human again, we learn the spiritual lessons and ultimately figure out how to finally break the cycle of reincarnation.

Thus, it’s important to select just the right “vehicle” (body). The higher self will wait for the right set of parents, the right type of family, the right birth order, the right genetics (intellect, appearance, health, talents and abilities, even brain chemistry), before injecting itself back into a human life.  (Personally, I’ve always felt there was a reason I was born the oldest daughter of an oldest daughter of an oldest daughter of an oldest daughter, all of whom were also the oldest child, who came of age during the women’s rights movement.)

And so, each of these qualities – both genetic and the environmental – are the starting cells for the real game of life.

These different elements create the patterns and dictate how we evolve as human beings: the things we embrace and the things we avoid;  the things we excel at and the things that we simply cannot wrap our brains around; the way we interact with the world around us – where we feel comfortable and where we do not; what we feel we are entitled to and what we feel is beyond our grasp.

And as we get older and move through life, the same patterns tend to repeat themselves (hence, the fractal analogy). Maybe we always choose the same type of wrong partner.  Maybe whenever things are going well for us, we self-sabotage.  Maybe our insecurity or fear or anger destroys relationship after relationship. Maybe we just can’t separate from our ego and make all the mistakes inherent in that.  Maybe we lack the confidence to succeed.  Or maybe we can’t get past our anger or resentment.

Hopefully,  eventually, we recognize and overcome those patterns that keep us from personal growth.  And in learning about ourselves, we learn about others, and about the the human condition, and about our own spiritual journey.

Or not.  Maybe we learn  nothing and have to do it all over again. And again. And again.  Until we figure it out.

I think if we look back at our lives,  we will see that the seeds of who we become are planted before we were born.

-aeg

—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog, please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days). When you think of others who might enjoy it too, it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media. Email a particularly apt link to a friend. Even better, talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also, I have just started a discussion group on Facebook, for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts. Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself. I would love get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Coincidence or Communication from Beyond?

Yesterday, I was thinking about an old boyfriend, L.  I met him in my twenties and we had an intense yearlong affair, then he moved out of the country, back to where he was from.  We stayed in touch. We both had other relationships but in between, we always found ourselves back in touch.  Every few years, we’d meet up somewhere, spend a week together.  The old feelings and passion were still there for both of us.  He was the only man, until I met my husband,  who ever “got” me.  We adored being in each other’s company.  But he was deeply flawed — he cheated on every woman he’d ever had a relationship with.  He lied.  He was emotionally uncommunicative.  He drank too much.  He took advantage of everyone’s kindness and patience. He was selfish. We were good for short bursts but I knew that if we ever lived together I’d quickly be miserable.  He, however, held on to the hope that someday, somehow, we would end up together, maybe grow old together.

Then I met my husband.  Initially L assumed this was just another affair that would burn itself out like all the others before (because how could I ever love anyone more than I loved him?) He expected he and I would go back to the way we’d always been. I assured him that M and I were forever.

Although I’d loved L, I hated that I loved him. He had hurt and disappointed me so often,  it was a relief to finally feel nothing for him.

Even after M and I were married,  L would call me now and then to see how I was doing (maybe checking to see if M and I were still together).  He was living in Miami by then, and I in NYC. We’d become Facebook friends and kept in touch with occasional text conversations.  He asked me several times if I’d come visit him — with M.   He just wanted to see me.  So, when M and I went to visit his mother in Florida, about nine years ago,  we took an afternoon drive to  meet him and his girlfriend at the Hard Rock Cafe in Hollywood.  It was a surreal place to meet.

I almost didn’t recognize him.  It was shocking and sad to see what he’d become.  He used to be absolutely stunning;  a smart, savvy businessman with a deep soul, who could always make me laugh.  Now he was a mere husk of his former self.  He sat there inert, barely speaking. She did all the talking. He wasn’t senile.  He simply had no spark.  This was a man who used to ooze mojo. Women would fall at his feet. (For me, it had been love at first sight.)  Now he was an empty shell with no life force. For as long as I’d known him, he’d been on anti-anxiety meds and anti-depressants. That, coupled with the heavy drinking and the fact that he didn’t take care of himself, had all taken their toll.   Health-wise, he was a mess. As a human, he was barely there.

Although he’d still text me via Facebook, over time his messages become unintelligible word salad.  He’d call me on the phone from time to time, but was nearly incoherent.  I eventually stopped responding.  I didn’t know if it was a permanent condition or if he only reached out to me when he was drinking and feeling sentimental. Either way, it was difficult and unpleasant to converse with him.  I no longer wanted to make the effort to peer inside him to understand what he was feeling, something I used to do so easily.

One day he called me and for some reason,  I picked up the phone. Surprisingly, he sounded like his old self.  Smart, funny, sensible.  He said he realized that if he didn’t stop drinking and get his shit together, he was going to die,. He’d started a program to get healthy.  I was truly happy for him.

But, as always, it didn’t take long for him to sabotage his own life and go back to his old ways. He was always one to take the path of least resistance.  His tragedy was that he was smart and deep enough to understand himself, and recognize what had to be changed, but he was lazy about actually doing the work.

Then, one evening about seven years ago,  I got a call from his girlfriend.  A few months prior,  one Saturday evening,  in their living room, he’d had a heart attack and died.  He was 60.

By that point, he’d alienated everyone in his life,  Even his own children didn’t go to the funeral.

I felt sad because I felt nothing.  After having loved him so deeply for so long, what did it mean that I felt not even a wisp of sorrow at his passing?

Back in the early days, when things were hot and heavy, we always promised each other that whoever died first would find a way to communicate with the other.  But that was forty years ago and I didn’t expect he’d remember or keep his promise from the other side.   He certainly didn’t keep any promises when he was alive so why would he keep any now that he was dead?   Besides, I didn’t want to “talk” to him. I had nothing to say to him, not even in my imagination. I was still angry at him for having thrown his life away.  I could not forgive him for squandering our love.  I was not at all open to hearing from him.

But yesterday, I thought,  I wonder…if I give him the opportunity, would he communicate?  Had I forgiven him enough to at least listen? I have learned that hearing the dead requires, at the very least, the willingness to listen.

So I said to him, wherever he may be,  “If you’re listening,  give me a sign.”  I thought about what that sign might be — it needed to be something significant to us but not so common as to be mere casual coincidence.  I thought about it.  We used to have an inside joke about Charlie Brown so I said,  “if you’re listening, show me Charlie Brown. That will be the sign.”

This morning, I woke up, opened Facebook, and one of the first posts on my feed was big picture of Charlie Brown

So, what do you think?  Mere coincidence or a message from Il Mondo Beyondo?   (I shall give him another opportunity soon.  See what happens.)

-a
—-

P.S.  Since I wrote this,  I saw yet another Charlie Brown meme on FB.  And then,  a couple of days after that, when we went to our local transfer station (aka “the dump”), and on the “take table” somebody had left a small framed panel cartoon of Charlie Brown and Linus.  And then again, somewhere else.  Charlie Brown seems to be popping up everywhere.

I don’t know if it’s because I simply wasn’t paying attention before, but honestly,  I don’t think I’ve seen any pictures of Charlie Brown in ages, and suddenly they seem to be everywhere.

Then,  to add another layer of weird,  yesterday, I was contacted by a client in LA (I have a party entertainment business,  www.bubbygram.com) whose name (first, middle, last) is the same as L’s second son (although he’s no relation.)

So, I’ve said, into the ether,  “OK, L.  I’m listening.”  Let’s see if he has anything interesting to say.

 

—–

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog, please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days). When you think of others who might enjoy it too, it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media. Email a particularly apt link to a friend. Even better, talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also, I have just started a discussion group on Facebook, for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts. Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself. I would love get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

The Blowhard

first published 4/30/14

https://thelivesofthedead.wordpress.com

Ar

I used to think I knew everything. I was a famous man, and people listened to what I had to say, as if I were a credible conveyor of All Truth. In my defense, I have to say I did know quite a lot. I had a very sharp intellect and piercing wit. People paid to hear me speak and I expounded freely. How I loved having an audience! I believed I was better, smarter and understood more truth than anyone else.

I had no respect for anyone who didn’t agree with me. They were either blind or stupid.

Only now do I understand how little I actually knew. Here, I can see the absolute vastness of all I do not know or understand. Perhaps my soul never will.

I hope I’m not so insufferable the next time.

 

____

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

The Aging Heiress

originally posted 4/27/14

glamorous vintage woman

Lael

I was vain, it is true. And my vanity caused many others to suffer. I was vain about things I had no right to claim as my own – my looks, my status (which was inherited, and then enhanced by marriage.)

In my 20’s, I was known as a great beauty. I was invited to all the right parties. Men desired me.

As I got older, I took care of myself as best I could, to maintain the illusion of youth as long as possible. After a certain number of years, however, age just catches up. A woman loses her sexual power over men. If this is all she has, if she’s put all her eggs in this particular basket, she ends up with nothing.

I had four husbands and excellent lawyers, but even money doesn’t fill that void, although I worked hard to prove that statement incorrect. Still, it was better to have money than not.

At 79, I was still elegant; still invited to all the right parties. My last companion was 53.  It was obvious to everyone except me that he was playing me. I wanted to believe that I still had enough wit, charm, and charisma to attract such a witty, charming, charismatic man.

When I died, he and my children (with whom I was never particularly close), got into a protracted legal suit over my estate. From where I was, I didn’t care who won. I could see how utterly pointless their battle was. The loser, in the end, was the real winner, although it took a while for that understanding to sink in.

 

***

note:

Today I was out for a walk and ran into two women I haven’t spoken to in over a year.  The first woman is a neighbor, and though we usually have a quick hello when we see each other on the street,  today we ended up yakking for an hour. Mostly, she talked a lot about her late mother, who had passed the previous year.  There was nothing unusual in that.  It made perfect sense in the context of the conversation we were having, although it was the longest conversation we’ve had, probably in two or three years.

From there, I went to the supermarket.  Right on front of me in line,  was someone who’d worked for me very briefly over a year ago.  We have not been in touch.  I asked her how she was doing, making light conversation.  She told me her mother had just passed away. While waiting to check out, she started telling me all about her mom,  her history, her days as an organizer.

I didn’t think anything odd about either of these encounters at the time. Later, however, I wondered if there wasn’t something a bit more than coincidence here.   They hadn’t simply informed that their mothers had recently passed. That’s  normal “news” you might share under such circumstances.  It was that they both spontaneously told me their mother’s story,  as if it were important for me to know.  In neither case was it at all in keeping with the very casual kind of relationship we had.

—-

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

 

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