Relating with indecision

Indecision - to be or not to be, to do or not to do, yes or no ... what will it be boy?

To be indecisive is one of the many symptoms of not recognizing ones belief systems.

How often do I become confused, frozen, not able to say yes or no, not able to commit ...

All because I have chosen to listen to multiple conflicting, contradicting beliefs at the same time, not allowing myself to recognize them and abandon them as unnecessary.

Constantly exchanging one belief for another until I fall down from spinning in my own dizziness.


Indecision, a gift, a pointer ... allowing me to see the trance of holding multiple beliefs at the same time.

Talk about productivity, if you are looking for recognizing beliefs, you've hit a jackpot.

When I look at my specific indecision, I am awarded with seeing not only 1 but multiple beliefs that have grabbed a hold of me.


Indecision, a bold, blatant gateway to fear, to belief, to freedom.


It may look indecisive in nature, but strangely bold in appearance. There is no pretending when one can not decide, the lack of decision stands out clearly in ones awareness, in ones gut and in ones actions to the world. There is no expression from ones truth ... in indecision one hides out in limbo ... finding safety from ones unnerving truth, caught in belief.

And in that indecision, the cost of relating, connecting to oneself and consequently the cost to relating to others is real-ness.


In a frozen state there is no lasting connection, the surface is cold and slippery ... every time one starts to connect, one slides from the surface ... there is nothing to grab onto or sink into ... the energy is scattered everywhere, providing only fleeting dispersed connection.


Indecision ... scattered, a blatant gateway ... it can be seen as a tool, a solid pointer to multiple fears and beliefs limiting ones ability to connect and relate.

Please De-Leaf Me

Autumn .... tis the season of leaves and fall ....

Let the leaves fall ... fall around you ...
Gathering at your feet ... forming piles of brilliant colors ...
Falling down on them ... laughing, playing ...
Picking them up ... throwing them to the sky ...
Watching them fall into a new creation ... one with a new awareness ...
Only to be picked up, danced upon and thrown to the sky ... time and time again.

Relating ... being able to communicate and share oneself with others, it helps shake the leaves off of myself and get to the root of my beliefs.

I would not uncover or simply have my leaves fall off any other way. Honest, true relating is like shaking the tree ... the leaves fall off more quickly, leaving a smooth bareness underneath.

To relate with the focus of consciousness ...
To relate so one can see and express themselves deeply ...
To relate so one can understand and experience others with curiosity ...

Every interaction becomes a gift ... a gift of discovery, awareness, presence ... a creative process ... an ever changing pile of leaves, to be dumped, thrown to the sky, played with and danced upon ...

Always leafing .... something fresh and new in its place.

Relating ... please de-leaf me.

When my story cracks deep ... a madwoman appears

Fear ...
I would like to think of myself as a warrior when I do any consciousness work, and yet I get to see the presentation taking on a different persona, one that I did not quite expect...

The fear that surprises me the most, is the fear that I am not fully aware of, a story that has not been as conscious in my de-constructing ... and with the surface of something so hidden, my approach, my initial reaction has been ... what can I say but surprisingly mad ...

The other evening, fear was everywhere ... lurking ... and it was lying in me ... undercover ... unaware ... until a harmless sentence ... a projection, turned the projector rolling on ...

I became split, two mad women ... a madwoman feeling close to insane and a mad woman full of anger ...

It was like being stuck in a horror show ...
the evil clown lay there waiting, lurking behind the curtains, around the corner, with a twisted smile, a painted face ... waiting to grab me and take me down, down, down into the darkness.
A nightmare of my own making, a movie featuring PAM.

Finally captured, with no where to go ... finally willing to see and feel, to take a long dedicated look at the sinister clown, the hallucination before me ... to be willing to listen to what it had to say, and to feel the sheer terror inside of myself.

The clown, my fear, my darkness, behaving in the same manner I have chosen to behave in the past. My deep fear does not just show up and present itself with open arms ... it runs me in the same manner I have run myself. It shows up like I show up, it behaves like I behave, it manipulates like I manipulate, it denies, hides and cries to be heard just like I do.

And to hear it speak, to no longer run ... is to witness my horror show and to feel the terror that has been embedded within me.

No wonder why I want to scream ... everything within me is trying to be heard, my beliefs, my story, and my feelings that have been buried in my thoughts and in my body. They are no longer being controlled in the same manner ... they are all jockeying for position with strength and they are gaining power. To not listen to them makes me feel like I am going mad, becoming insane, a madwoman of sorts as there is simply to much to contain and to much to deny.

And ... when I stop and listen to them, to my story, to my belief, to my feelings ... I feel the madness within me ... and a mad woman appears ... with tears in her eyes and a clenched jaw ... revealing the sadness and the anger involved.

Yes ... when my story cracks deep, a madwoman and a mad woman appear.
I am able to experience both persona's as I fight between denying and listening to my fear.

I welcome the day when I see my fear in a manner that aligns with my growth and acceptance of myself. When it no longer needs to have a face of a clown lurking, demanding to be heard, but a warrior standing, strong.

When I can embrace the woman before me quickly and cleanly with one deadly strike, one huge HUG of love.

Red Heeled Fantasy

Fantasy...

I never realized how much I loved to believe in just that, in my world, in my fantasy, in my make believe.

I always liked playing dress-up, still do..
Where are those red 4 inch heeled shoes, oh and the dress and the long brown hair?

Belief was so important...that to question, to bring out contradictions, variances was never an option. I would NOT, I could NOT .... see anything but my fantasy ... and damn it, if it was real for me it had to be real to everyone else.

I remember selling someone on my fantasy, trying to make it real for me and convince them of the truth....my truth.

Oh yes...my fantasy would win, I know it...and I would march fiercely defending, believing in just that ... and if selling someone on my fantasy did not work ... I could wait.

And wait I did...I was good at that. It was easier to live in my mind then to face the truth.

To uncover the truth of a fantasy was to shine light on a belief ... and in my world it became DANGEROUSLY illuminating..

So I continued...justifying my illusion, selling my illusion, believing in my illusion ... in possibilities, in the future ... until it became so obviously unreal that the present could no longer be denied or hidden from myself.

Fantasies have many flavors. Mine was of rich, smooth chocolate or warm cafe mocha's ... swirled with perfection ... perfection of love..

Funny, the idea of love ... it got me every time ... whenever I felt truly touched within myself with someone else I would expect that feeling to be equal, shared, received and returned ...
and if not, I would wait patiently like a school girl waiting for the bus .. or more likely at the window for my father ...

If you were good, he would come, wouldn't he?

I feel I have been waiting most of my life for that school bus, never wanting to see my truth ... and now realizing I never needed to wait.

I have feet that can cover the distance. The cost of waiting or fantasizing is BIG to my soul ... an illusion filled with fear, wrapped in the safety of denial. An illusion without any true substance or nourishment ... an illusion that is oh ... so exhausting to maintain.

And then the anger, the sadness, the initial terror as well as the personal power I have felt when I realize the importance of being true to myself no matter what the perceived cost...

and you can only imagine what my cost would have to be to fit this story ... of red heeled shoes and coffee mocha's swirled with perfection of love....

My fantasy of love...
A fantasy I have built my life around.

Funny... when I realize I had it all along within myself, waiting for me to discard that school bus and turn within. I never needed to fantasize...

But I still see myself in those 4 inch red heels and the long brown hair....