Not in the best place

 I'm up by Texarkana with my family. 

And I haven't felt like trying to have any kind of job at all. And I don't know what I'm going to do about my situation. Living with my family is bad for my health, mental health and for my heart. I need to get on the mend about fixing my life, but I can't seem to make myself push through it. I'm not sure what I need... I pray a lot. A lot, a lot. 

And then I've been homeless and cornered and put in jail and walked away from everything. I had to learn about my mind with telepathy and to let the angels prove to me we were working together and I could even read the energy and signs to know about being guided. There have been such beautiful, perfect moments mixed in, that I know there will be more and that this is just part of being at the bottom. 

And I believe the angels when they tell me that I'm gonna go Bottom to the Top and that I'm Falling Up. It would feel nuts except it's been exceptionally spectacular, and no matter how hard it gets, I just think I wouldn't have had it be any different. Except for when I would, like now, stuck here with my brother and his rage tantrums and with my parents and all the dynamics of an unhealed household. And I can't tell them or teach them anything... they can't hear it. They won't. And anything I could want to help or heal about it would be fighting territory... my brother even beat the shit out of me in May and then the family ganged up to put me in jail over a lie that I assaulted my sister when I didn't aggress on anybody. 

They tried to kill me in May, and I was homeless in Shreveport for like 5 months, and then I moved back in at Halloween when my feet were also in such bad shape I need-needed a break and to rest and heal up. But they have a way of making me feel like an enormous burden. And my brother is a grudge-holder who only wants to be angry that I'm anywhere. And if I was off doing something or living someway dangerous, my mom would be crying all the time, and it would be my fault. 

I'm the black sheep, scapegoat of this family. And I don't deserve that. I deserved to be supported for my talents, like singing, writing, speaking, and performing -- I always held myself back because I felt like I was intended to Shut Up, which were my dad's favorite words to me. And my brother has silent treatment against me now, and looking at him is enough to get him to show his anger and intimidate me anytime. He and I walk past each other like the other is supposed to be a ghost. I had thought before I came here -- when I was seeing a bunch of strange stuff as a shaman -- that I had died. And then I came here to see what it would be like to be a ghost in the house. WTF is this world? 

I know there are no accidents and everything happens for a reason, but sometimes the reasons can't be good enough to make a lady like me go through such crap. Some sages and channelers make a point that we choose our lives before we come into them, and I can imagine I did choose some of what I have, but I can't imagine choosing to have to get cornered in life before I'd want to move on things that could be good for me. And I can't imagine why I'd choose to have so many levels of my journey be on Depersonalization so that I don't even know what I want to want it. And even when I don't want anything, there are things I have loved, tried, enjoyed, know are good, don't hurt anybody, and feel right to be a part of. And even don't want any of that enough to make small steps to get there. I'm in such a spot. 

And the times when "I don't know" is default feel like I'm doing right as well. Like there's a whole paradigm happening where I'm intended to just "wait" and flow and to let the path show me. When I can do this playfully and have the resources to just enjoy whatever there is going to be, I am such a blossom of creativity and feeling, of being my whole thing as the moment shows me. And the things I need really are right in front of me anytime. I really enjoy the ideals of Pu and Wu Wei, and knowing of them and incorporating them into whatever game I'm having with the Universe today. Each day, a new kind of day. Which was really my favorite part of news reporting, not knowing what the day might have, even if you have something on your calendar.

There are so many things here to look at, things that I can turn over and over. Like the position that everything that's going on outside is a play of the things that are going on inside. I guess I'm really just a Horror Circus in here. 

Worse, even, is that the busted lamp thing happened after I wrote the blog about how my writing and adrenaline rushes are intertwined in my ability to motivate myself. I want to be able to write from my heart. I want to be able to write from an enjoyment of seeing my words designed like a style that feel and flow from me. In my voice. Healing my voice! And the other side of things is worse. Writing for pleasure and creativity feels like I'm doing something wrong. Like there's a triviality that I don't agree to, or I even get a guilty pleasure feeling. I have had survivor's guilt, and I get guilted around this house if I am eating anything, even if it's mine and I brought it, or for needing to take space while I'm on the skids and healing after a lot of hard things to face. 

I'm strong enough for this Gonzo Journey, and I've got plenty more to tell about it. I really did sit for a little while yesterday and write up 30-ish book ideas I have had over the years and couldn't make those mothers come the fuck out. Some of them would have been so much better if I could have made myself stop to write them from the moment. Probably RollingStone magazine will be pissed that I couldn't capture them in their rawest, most metal, most impossible moments. And all I can hope is that these parts of my journey were just another kind of training for the real thing and that it is impossibly magical, mystical, perfect, amazing, and healing for me, our country, and the world. 

Like Terri Buddha Christ would have it on a magical afternoon in New York when everything was going her way, even if it was just a stranger offering pizza when I was homeless and hungry and didn't feel like I could ask. Things show up for me as they should. So, that makes it even harder to be somewhere I somehow Need to be, when I know that it's an uncomfortable place. 

Some of the being homeless parts were so important for my journey. I needed to see for myself, and I did, and I don't want to go back that way. But earlier this week I had done another Runaway and then had to get rescued. And No, I don't mean that to be the way it usually goes, cause needing to get rescued is never where you wanna be. I'm not trying to have a whole personality around my multiple sides that just plays Damsel in Distress all the time. And I'm not sure how much putting myself in dangerous spots is about reliving the stress I've gone through to continue to work the emotions out of my system with PTSD, or how much it might be because the Universe is giving me Cold Therapy on my walkabout as a way to help me face my fears, and get my voice back. 

I've written more on this blog than I have in a long time, and probably my family thinks it is all about how fucked up it all is. And this time they'd be right. Not saying things that would hurt them or make them embarrassed and getting past all the judgement of these people who only want to hold me back or belittle me for trying -- has to be a major part of my reasons for being here. And I knew it was before I got here. When I wrote my first novel I never got published, "Ambit Autonomy" the first thing I said as I lit the incense over my desk and prayed to my grandmother and got my area all setup with the computer and chair and comfortable. The first thing I said was that "I hope my mom hates it."

And today I was reminded by stray thoughts that when I got my tubal ligation in 2019, the last thing I said before anesthesia was, "Thank God, I won't ever have to introduce any kids to my mom." 

Now, more than when it was probably going on in the lineup of life, I understand that I get pregnant with ideas as part of my path. Used to be I'd feel so pregnant and go to the store and stand in the pen isle like some girls would look at baby clothes. And I still get those feelings in my body, like the ideas are in there and they're going to come out all at once and full of life. And also there is the ongoing myth of paradigms where anytime I get jizz on me or in me, that I get pregnant with a guy's ideas like mixing a cocktail of me and him. But then it seems to workout that being sexual and fulfilled that way does make me feel more creative and stuff actually happens for me after that. So, it's still just a paradigm, but I like it and put on random superstitions for the fun of it anytime. 

I've been wearing a quartz crystal around my throat like a choker, tied there on a green ribbon I crocheted myself from acrylic yarn. I let it rest in the creek for a while yesterday when I was having therapy from the creek bed, which was a fun mix to hear the water gurgling and talk to her and to try to work out why I can't seem to cross whatever threshold I've put up about money and getting my spiritual ideals and my finances to get together. 

One day when I was in New York, I walked along looking at all the places and was also imagining myself inside of any of them. And every place I walked by, I thought, "I could do something good there." And before I left on my journey, I was deeply in touch with a guiding spirit that had me catalog all my skills and do a SWOT analysis of myself that was fairly in depth. And we had come up with three-page list of skills or jobs I could just do. Anything. I could be doing fucking anything, and the idea of picking between them was too much for me. I love everything. And so I surrendered to the path. 

I surrendered to the path a lot. I have so many reasons why me choosing the direction feels like I'm gonna pick something for a dumb, fun reason and miss on being in service to the highest good. So I pray all the time that I'll be in service to the highest good. I pray for my highest timeline. I pray for joy and peace, and the people to have what they need, just like I also have whatever I need. 

It always helps me to see it in my other notes, so... Before I left on my Holy Shamanic Walkabout, the angels promised me that I'd be Divinely Guided, Divinely Protected, and I'd Have Everything I Need. They also told me I have everything I Need Inside, which I'm inclined to believe that even my passions, curiosity, and drive come from somewhere other than just me. 

And so I'm set on a question mark about how to Let the Path Choose Me, to stay with flow even when I don't feel like I'm myself because of environments where I don't feel like I'm safe to be myself, staying in my highest possible vibration around dark emotions and threats, and then taking care of my health, body, stress, and day-to-day needs around any more of that. As an insulin dependent diabetic with bad feet and such a wild mind. 

If I didn't have to worry about insulin, I could guarantee this journey would be going differently. Some of the reason I'm where I am is because getting insulin is a process. First, you have to ask for it. So far, New York City and Shreveport both have medical care as part of homeless outreach, and I was helped until I could get medicaid. Changing states means cancelling in one state and hoping the next state recognizes you as needy enough to have medical coverage. I'm a total chicken about changing spots because, for now, I have a doctor I like and have been receiving insulin I need for my condition. 

And before you get to telling me how I can cure it with diet and exercise.. I know how much discipline that takes and had gotten my A1c from a 13 to a 6.5 or something with 5 days a week exercise, supportive herbs like berberine and gymnema, a routine with supplements and vitamins, a year and a half of Krav Maga, a nearly vegan diet with one meal a day intermittent fasting, as much sleep and recovery as I felt I needed around that, sauna. I lost about 40 pounds in that phase. I had water aerobics, warm water yoga, and any weight lifting or fitness classes I might want to be in. Zumba was fun. Run on the bottom Water Polo was a blast. I also enjoyed fasting and taking a week off from food, or a span of some weeks when I only ate on the weekend, or even four attempts to the 21-day Daniels Fast -- which I usually made 19 or 20 with water, herb tea, and coffee. I'd really love the chance to do this lifestyle again with what I have now that I've been developing my Jedi Abilities. Somewhere with a forest and creek and some of the other reasons I'm not so much more miserable about being here. 

My folks live about 15 minutes from Texarkana on a farm that my grandparents bought in the 1940s and raised their family. The old house has some walls still standing, but watching it fall down has been sad to me. My sister lives next door with her boyfriend and four kids, all of them on the higher vibe of the ascension game, all of them catching some part of the exact same hell I am recovering from in my 40s because of the way our family puts people through the trials of shadow. I hope the girls don't make all of  my mistakes, and I hope the boys continue to be gentle and that they don't fall into addiction like their uncle and dad. And whether I do or say or teach or leave out things with them sometimes feels like part of "the game" and that I'm here as a being of light for more than just me and have opportunities to be part of a goodness, whether or not I'm feeling like there is persecution around. 

I don't have a car. Cause if I had a car, this could not have happened. When I had a car, this would have been the last place I might have chosen to go. So that is why I don't have a car. If I had money, a car, a prospect, a friend, anything that would have been an option to here, then I'd be all over that. If I had any advantage, then this wouldn't have been possible. If I had not been humbled by psychological torture, humbled by losing/leaving everything, humbled by homelessness and totally needy, humbled by realizing that I had never had the kind of love or support for my dreams as any bright person might deserve, humbled by having friends turn their back, humbled by the ones who hang in there to see me shine again, humbled and humbled, then my Narcissistic Soup of a Family would not have been able to tolerate me being in their space. 

I probably also don't have a car because I'd be chasing my sex drive and checking out men in the area. I like getting to know them, seeing their homes, knowing about their condition, listening and learning about their realities. Self-diagnosing as Neuro Divergent and as Borderline Personality Disorder is a paradigm area as well.. I understand that coping with not being loved is looking for attention and pleasure to enjoy moments even I'd prefer fulfilling relationships to be the truth and theme of my life. My mom tried to predict that I'd always have problems with people wherever I go, and I told her not to set intentions like that upon my life. I'm gonna have to figure out a cord-cutting like there has never been and break this whole thing where she imagines she can prognosticate around her own insecurities and propose that I'm not going to have the love I know I deserve in this life. 

When you put it out there, ya get it back, and I've been so loving in this life and world that I can't believe any justice or balance possible that means that feeling of love can't or won't find its way back to me. It's not for her or anyone else to say such things about my life and future. Not. 

Meanwhile, my favorite distraction is dating apps. Looking at man-candy, getting likes, meeting new guys who might or might not vibe in a good way, meeting the wrong ones who are psychopaths trying to break me again, anything might show up there. It's an avenue to a bigger world. So, why not? I don't let bad times I've had with online dating and meetings break my interest in finding someone to connect with. I'm still Free to Choose Any Direction, and I also don't have all the baggage I had before I walked away. Some of the reason I'm off in this waiting room is because of Divine Timing, or so the angels say, and some of that is so I don't accumulate commitments before some grand chance and lucky break I'm headed toward. I really sense that somehow I'm going to get out of here like a magical miracle happening just perfect, and exactly right for me and my soul. Probably there will be someone to snuggle in the recipe for that one, and I hope he's kind, smart, spiritual, weird, creative, good looking, humorous, and adventurous. 

I was President of the Future Homemakers of America club in high school and love being a housewife with free time to be a shaman. Keeping a home and having my own home is my favorite thing, and I love it even better than journey. So walking away from my home, all my work, all my collections and investigations, media equipment, and best friend husband -- wasn't easy. But I believe I was guided and that everything still went just as it was supposed to go. Weirdly enough, Surrendering to the Path as an intention makes it so that things go the way they should, even if the journey is into fear-facing, grief, non-attachment, patience, or conflict. I had to leave. And bless the angels for trying, they told me "Buddha and Jesus also had to" and tried to make me feel better about it. I do sometimes feel better that I don't have to worry about the things while I have Jedi training and lifestyles of lack to learn about. If I had all that going good, I couldn't have learned all the things I did this year about being homeless or about having to scooch back into square pegs after finding out I'm really a star shape peg.

For me to even be here, I have to pretend to be dirt or worse, which in their eyes is someone who doesn't have a job and needs help. For their catastrophic egos to even tolerate me, I have to be the scapegoat they can talk shit about when I'm not around, someone good enough to cry about when I'm gone or to lean on for emotional guidance, but not good enough for groceries and warm place to sleep. Sure, they're giving me these basic necessities, but that means this is their stage and they are casting me as the character they can tolerate. To need help, I have to feel bad about needing it. 

I was a lonely kid whose friends were the trees for a reason. I lived in books and wrote short stories and poems and spent more time at the family's word processor than anybody. All of it lost, of course. And I could mourn a lot more of my writing, books filled with ideas and poems and things I never showed to anybody. Things that were, but didn't have to be personal only. Living in my imagination was the most comfortable place, and I learned to write things like this as if I were telling a close friend in a letter. Sometimes I know I'm talking to any future self that might be having a look back on times before. Sometimes I wonder what kind of audience might ever be intrigued enough about me to see anything I'd have to say about anything.

Which is circling back to why I would love my mom to hate my writing. When I was a kid, I would have strange ideas and stories that I'd come up with. I'd remember things that hadn't happened to me from a first-person perspective like a car crash I wasn't in. And her judgment meant a lot to me then, especially since I was getting groomed into the family dynamic of codependency, people pleasing, guilt, shame, bullshit. And with all that, I still was a journalist who did pretty good for a little while at two daily papers. Which brings us to some more PTSD around writing and more reasons why I had taken such a long break from publishing and sharing my voice. 

I stopped publishing in 2012 after the failed Occupy Movement and a lot of ideals going on that really showed me that I was serving a machine that had failed and was being bought out to corporate interests only. The condition of local journalism was dismaying and working as a staff writer seemed like slavery to other people's ideals since I wouldn't be allowed to have obvious political bias in an atmosphere of Texas political parties I was unable to have any areas of agreement with. I have a lot to say about local news organizations and the silencing of investigations by the mere lack of investigators, the low pay of people who are nevertheless required to have degrees to perform their duty to the people and public. I was also physically ill with diabetes, hemorrhoids, and terrible menstruation. Some days I was doing real good if I got off the couch and made it to the bathtub for a long soak in the "Think Tank" which was really a clawfoot bathtub I'd stay in for hours and hours... thinking. 

I'd love it for my dad and brother to hate my writing as well. Mostly because I know they would never want to read anything I ever had to say unless they were looking for a way to hate it. They wouldn't even try to find anything to like about, especially since there's nothing good about me to make my writing, words, presence, message, or friendship, even worth bothering with unless they could find something bad about it to discuss as a reason to mistreat and belittle my being. I might have gotten a few moments of praise out them for when I was working at the Texarkana Gazette, but that was almost 20 years ago, and we were different people then. 

Whoever set up the recipe of these characters for me to be brought up with was a sadist. People are a recipe of traits, and I've met their doppelgangers as nice people in other places to recognize energetically the way spirits are having concurrent lifetimes and still playing the play together in different stages and scenes. These ones were set up by a fucking sadist, and my Higher Self probably did it. Is this masochism? From a higher-self paradigm, I'm even asking the question to know why it's a level of truth to endure people hating me to have the gift of inspired speech and things to say, so much so that they would only look at the impossibly wonderful story of my beautiful life for a reason to hate it. And I guess there would be some parts in there that even live-down to that option of unappreciation. As for the rest, the whole gang of them can drown in envy and I'll laugh from the top of the lighthouse when I get there. 

As my brightest, most beautiful self, I laugh so much more. I dance and sing, and have flourish in my movements. I vibe jazzy and dress in weird outfits and wear crowns. I am me, and I'm also along for a ride with me.