Lately, I find myself thinking about “they says.” You know, those statements that we encounter in life that are spoken as truisms. Perhaps meant to be helpful guides like …

Once a cheater always a cheater.

Hmmm. How helpful is that?

The date of my last post – June 24th – hits me right between the eyes with another “they say.” They say that a blogger should never leave their blog unattended for a long period of time without making an official “I am on a blogging hiatus” statement. They say it’s bad business. (They also say “right between the eyes” is a cliché and writers shouldn’t use clichés.)

Well, I say:
What if I didn’t know I was going to take a hiatus?
What if life happened – as it so often does – and I just got caught up in living it and wasn’t in the space to write about it?
What if I just wanted to BE in the experiences? (Some of which were very cool, by the way, and will be shared here.)
What if I’m not a writer and just a gal with a messy room?

BESIDES, who are THEY anyway? And where do THEY get their information? I mean, they must really get around because they have a lot to say. I’m guessing their information to be inspired by past experiences but whose past? Yours? Mine? Anybody we know? (Oops! They say don’t ask too many questions without offering answers.)

Well, I have no answers but I do have a project idea. If you are reading this and presently grappling with a “they say” that doesn’t serve you, dump it here. Debunk it here. And give me a “What if” or a “So what” … OR, if you have a “they say” that is helping you now (there are a few of those around) feel free to share it here and we’ll give you an “Amen” !

Here’s one to get you started:
They say it is better to give than receive.
What if there were no receivers?
Would it still be better?
Or frustrating?
Or frustratingly better?

Is there a “they say” (or two) floating around in your day-to-day life that you’d like to share or clear out? This is the place to do it …

I don’t care what they say!

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Inspiration is unpredictable. That’s what makes it so magical. When it strikes it has that first time freshness – like falling in love – that defies the dull, deadening impulses of the mundane.

We might yearn for inspiration. Even create an environment that encourages it. But, in the end, inspiration will not be bought nor controlled. That we might take delight.

As a street photographer, Juliette finds her inspiration is often right around the corner. We seem to share a muse because what inspires her frequently inspires me. Her comment and blog link on Shoeboxes and Found Objects inspired an ephemeral muse-fusion that we are collaborating to capture. That we might share delight!

“Bernadette, you can find interesting ephemera on the streets! Check out this collection of odd, artistic, far out street stuff on my blog … okay, well some are ephemera anyway!”

Many Angry Eggs

“From carved out, psychedelic-colored, old refrigerators to creepy skulls hanging from a tree, here are some bizarre things found on the street that makes one stop and think, “how did that get there?”

Winter Seating

BIG ephemera that certainly fits my definition. With photo captions like: Skull in the Yard • Lost Bed • An Old Make Out Place • Psycho Fridge • Welcome No One • Claustrophobic Artist • Lost in the City • Suddenly a Wall … how can you NOT click on this link? Visit Juliette’s blog and see more of her street story shots.

(And don’t be shy. Let her know you visited. Even a simple “hello” inspires a blogging muse!)

Check back. Juliette is one of my Visiting Muses.

You can get to know Juliette better and see more of her work on this post: Bilingual Chick with a Knack for Creative Stuff.

HEY! To the poets out there who visit the Messy Room: Do any of her shots inspire you? A “Messy Poet’s Corner” could fit quite nicely in The Messy Room. Email me if you are inspired to join Juliette and me in our muse-play.

To follow other Visiting Muses: Click Here

If you liked this, then LIKE this and SHARE it! Together we grow!

I’m pulling this one out of the archive closet. It really speaks to this newly purposed blog format for the Messy Room. And it also speaks to journaling the journey!

•  •  •  •  •  •

Original Entry: April 5, 2007

Those of you who signed up for our manifestation series will know what I mean when I say I am working on the first part of the formula. Got to walk the talk, right? So, I want to share a fun awareness that very quietly slipped into view last week – between the waxing moon and full moon.

Something interesting – or should I say someone interesting – has reappeared. My artist self. It took two layovers in Atlanta, a week apart, in one particular bookstore – wandering the aisles and killing time between Feng Shui appointments – to finally notice her presence. (I live a good ways from Atlanta so I consider these kind of layovers a real treat.)

Anyway, back to wandering the aisles, sipping coffee, and scanning the usual shelves. (Self help. Interior design. Philosophy. Metaphysical.) On my second visit, I found an angel card deck by Doreen Virtue that was not sealed and treated myself to a mini-reading. That must have been where my artist self saw her opportunity to sneak in because immediately afterward I landed in the art section, specifically the craft section, pouring through pages and pages of how to’s. Papermaking, hand-bound journals, altered books, collages, artist trading cards. Art decorated with found objects given a new purpose. Bits and pieces of God knows what from God knows where. The funkier the better.

Guess I got a little tipsy because the next thing I knew I was in the checkout line with a book on art dolls. That is when my artist self tapped me on the shoulder and posed an interesting question, one that I have not been able to shake:

What kind of artist would you be today if you stepped back into your art, Bernadette?

Stepped back into my art? I wasn’t aware that I had ever stepped out.

Since then, she has gently led me past my formal training in two-dimensional art and design to the little girl who drew paper dolls, designed their wardrobe, cut them out, and played with them. To the mixed media child who covered shoe boxes (inside and out) with aluminum foil and colored tissue paper and then glued bits of ribbon, broken pieces of jewelry, scraps of netting, plastic flowers (Yep. I’m a survivor of the tacky plastic flower era), rocks, seashells, and any other fair-game-found-objects into her little shadow box world. A world that was often integrated with religious themes; her favorite being those that incorporated a statue of the Virgin Mary from her mother’s dresser in a grotto-like setting. (As grotto-like as you can get in a box covered with aluminum foil.) She especially liked to attach little handmade cards with a poem or verse – or better yet, the promise of a novena and gift her creations “To Mom.” Creations that only a mother could love – and a blessed mother at that!

Viewing my intrigue for funky, mixed-media expressions of art these last couple of years as an anomaly, her reappearance assures me with a sense of continuity and leaves me with a distinct feeling that, when my life supports a little more time for creative expression of the visual kind, she will be the artist that gets to play.

Why? Because what she finds enthusiasm for is symbolic and rather plentiful in my life right now. Collage-like days that reflect bits and pieces of experiences combined not so much for the purpose of an obviously finished masterpiece but for the pleasure of an obviously unfinished process. Snippets of inspiration. Of this and that pulled together. Magical creations. Mixed-media expressions of a multi-dimensional spirit. Past. Present. Future. Revealed in the spontaneity of the moment. Clip it. Paste it. Throw a little glitter on it. What a wonderful meditative practice her art form could be. I find myself thinking about the kind of workshops she would want to give. Messy ones that tap into and somehow express sanctuary, spirituality, and the goddess – a la Mary and the grotto; prayers included.

So, my awareness in this first cycle? My artistic urges to gather fair-game-found-objects and hide them in shoe boxes in the back of my closet are, in fact, not an anomaly or a childish phase, but a clue. An answer. My artist self was there in the beginning with a purpose and has reappeared with a purpose – and I’m quite curious to see what we will be creating together.

Anybody else want to play? Pull out your shoe boxes and jump right in!

If you enjoyed this you might also enjoy: My Life as Ephemera

If you entered through the art gallery: Click here to go back.

And if you like this, then LIKE this and SHARE it with your friends!

e•phem•er•a 1. something that is transitory and without lasting significance  2. a range of collectable items that were originally designated to be short-lived

I have a secret, long-time love affair with ephemera.

If you traveled back in time with me and rummaged through one of the bedroom closets from my childhood, we would find shoe boxes (neatly stacked, of course) filled with cast-offs and found objects.

Plastic flower pieces. (Yes, I grew up in the plastic flower era.) Broken bits of jewelry. Belt buckles. Assorted rocks and seashells. Coins from mysterious foreign lands. (Okay, Canadian coins from across the river.) Bits of lace and embroidery thread. Odd buttons. Aluminum foil scraps and colored tissue paper. And a clothespin or two.

If we fast-forward to one of my bedroom closets, say around the age of sixteen, we would find bigger boxes with cast off clothing.

Grandma Doll’s crocheted aprons. (Waiting to be converted to vests and halter-tops.) Mom’s 50’s pearl-buttoned sweaters and jackets. (Waiting to be worn with my favorite hip-hugger bell bottom jeans – the pair with the chessboard appliqué on the butt stitched by yours truly.) Grandma Smith’s Greta Garbo-esque satin wedding dress. (Too precious to cut up but a definite inspiration.) An older  cousin’s 40’s taffeta and organdy party dress. Gloves in assorted shades of white to ivory. A black Cossack-style coat. And a velvet hand-beaded by somebody in the family purse.

If we fast-forward just a little more, we’d find a freshly married Bernadette merging with life in the fast lane – a life that left her no time for the magical meanderings ephemera encouraged.

•  •  •  •  •

“The creation story portrays the love of a creative God lifting beauty and order out of the chaos.” – Sr. Macrina Weiderkehr O.S.B.

Now, lets visit one more Bernadette. The one who, when swept to the curb, scrambled to salvage bits of her broken dreams before they washed into the storm drain as her life and marriage shattered into the unrecognizable rubble that some might consider ephemera.

What a beautiful mess – to accept the invitation to see my life as ephemera through the eyes and spirit of the little girl who gathered treasures and placed them in shoe boxes to be re-purposed at a later time. She didn’t worry about deadlines (or speed limits) or what someone else thought about her little fascinations. She kept and categorized them so she could find them when their purpose was revealed.

So, Mr. Webster’s New World Dictionary, here’s two things I know about ephemera that you didn’t touch:

• That which the world casts off as something transitory and without lasting significance the artist picks up to give significance.

• Sometimes that which we cast off as transitory and without lasting significance God picks back up to give US lasting significance.

So, today, I’m full-circle it seems. When Ray left, I was a struggling artist trying to find my way back to that magical place of possibility and expression. When he returned, we found a re-purposed marriage and I, a new path working with people in their homes. Now, 16 years after my scramble at the curb, I find myself with shoe boxes (they’re clear plastic now) filled with ephemera as I embark into the world of mixed media and altered book art.

The difference today? My shoe boxes are out of the closet and I share my ephemera (inside and out) in this messy room and in Bernadette’s Pages.

So, of course I have to ask, any other ephemera enthusiasts out there? Where are you with ephemera in YOUR life and what are you doing with it?

Or, perhaps you would like to share as an artist-writer-musician-creative. What do you do with your bits and pieces?

If you like this, you might also enjoy: Awareness: Shoe Boxes & Found Objects

If you entered through the art gallery: Click here to go back.

And if you like our Messy Room, LIKE this and share it with a friend!

So, today was supposed to be a writing day for the Messy Room blog and I realized, about an hour ago after the “rescue-kitty” dominos fell, that my ideal for the day wasn’t going to happen. As I maneuvered through the maze of closed doors to make the cat introductions – again – and set the pecking order ground rules – again – I thought, “Why do I have this mess in my house?”

No, Ray hasn’t moved out. WE still own this house. I say “my house” because the drama between these cats in this house is mine. And their infringement into my writing consciousness is mine. (Ray is happily painting in the studio of his house  – with Reesie, our somewhat feral kitty.)

I’m sure there is a classroom in here but not so sure about getting a passing grade on this one. I don’t know that I will ever overcome my predisposition to be “distractedly” overprotective when it comes to cats. (All right, people too.)

After a few frustrated tears and lassoing Ray on his way to refill his coffee cup, it hit me; this is exactly why I re-purposed this blog. Exactly why it is now “Musings from the Messy Room.” I don’t have to wow you with insights and such. I just have to show up with my mess. So here I am.

If you have a moral to the story – or a mess of your own to share – PLEASE jump in! And don’t trip over the cats.

“Can You Say No To Too Many Choices?” Great question posed in this article written by Barry Schwartz who eases us into the idea that more choices do not necessarily give us a greater sense of freedom with his visit to a local market where he encounters

“… 285 varieties and brands of cookies, 75 iced tea drinks, 40 toothpastes, 230 soups, 175 salad dressings, and 275 cereals.”

What’s the big deal, you say? Studies are showing that more choices have not made us more happy. More stressed? Yes. More depressed? Yes. More anxious? Yes.

Humbling? Yes. This is not where we thought we were heading a generation ago.

Fine. Lets go back to food choices then. They’re easy. Right? That is, until your partner asks you where you want to eat on a Friday night after a long hectic week. Ever find yourself replying, “I don’t care. You decide.” Ever wonder, if you don’t care, why you greet their decision with a less than enthusiastic response more times than not? (There’s a great movie scene between Sean Penn and Christen Scott Penn in Hurley Burley that ends with them jumping out of the car and screaming at each other over just this.)

Food choices are easy – except for Sean and Christen – compared to phone service bundles, retirement plans, health-care plans, medical or pharmaceutical treatment options, stereo systems, computers, where to live, who to date. (Now, we even have speed dating. More choices to find that perfect mate faster?)

The article reflects on “how much better choice appears in theory than it feels in actuality.”

Many clients that I clutter coach will offer an ‘AMEN’ to that! In their struggle with too much stuff, the fear of saying no, of not considering or preparing for all the options, often paralyzes them. A phase that I maneuver them through with caution, compassion – and a lot of coaxing.

Here’s a tip if you are having trouble making decisions:

Let go of the need to research every possible choice. Research gives you more information – but more information is not always synonymous with more peace of mind. When you start considering your options, remember to set your goal. Choose peace of mind first and you will be led. The rest will fall into place.

Want to feel good and enjoy your life?

THEN – Live It Up and Limit Yourself!

YEP!  Narrow your choices down. Choose from less. And you’ll gain more of what really sustains you!

I’d love to hear your thoughts on when enough is enough for you …

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Chloe the Muse sculpted by Karla Zdroik

Sunday Scribblings #238 Writing Prompt: what do you make of curious?

What do I make of curious?

I am curious how, in attempting to coax out my visual artist, I wound up on a writing prompt site.

Was it the word “Sunday” or “Scribblings” that lured me in?

I am more curious at the thought that I am apparently going to post this and link it back to Sunday Scribblings as the prompt suggests.

I am wondering – oops curious – if this is just another stall tactic, if my writer is threatened by all the hoopla of late made by my artist.

What do I make of a curiously quiet house on a Sunday afternoon? A decision to treat myself while Theo helps Daddy sleep off his pneumonia. An intentional artist’s date, curled up on the sofa with Kelly Rae Roberts and her book, Taking Flight: to give your creative spirit wings. A “curious” flip to the back pages under “Resources: Places to Fly.” (That’s how I found you, Laini and Megg. In case you are wondering. It just happened to be Sunday.)

What do I make of curious? I am curious if I can use my writer to launch my artist. If they will ever make peace and learn how to share this middle-aged woman’s energy. (She has a plan – albeit loose – but a plan none the less.)

I am curious. Will I click “Publish”?

Hmmm. Do I put this under the category “Muses Among Us” – or “Growing Pains”?

For those wondering what Sunday Scribblings is – in their words: ”Sunday Scribblings was set up to provide inspiration and motivation for anyone who enjoys writing and would like a weekly challenge.” Click here to check them out!

Entered through the Art Gallery? Click here to go back.

“Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.” – Theodore Roethke

I might be breaking some blogger’s code by pulling this post out of the archives but it tied so beautifully to the quote that I just found by Mr. Roethke and last week’s theme  (Writing Under Fire on our Facebook page) that I couldn’t resist furthering my point about how writing helps us map our way through whatever we need a map for.

The time this post was written is irrelevant. But the growth since that post is not. Growth TIED TO VULNERABILITY that appeared because I kept writing – in this case, out of my comfort zone.

Two years later, this post acts as evidence – a point illustrated.  For you, it may represent something entirely different – unique to your own map and journey. I would love to hear what that is for you. Pull up a chair and join me at the table?

Here’s the Original. Posted July 20, 2008

I am struggling with this blog. I am frustrated and disappointed because I have not been able to experience the depth of voice with it that I imagined I would have when I started to explore this medium of expression just over a year ago.

I am not a writer. Never wanted to be one. I journal.

I write freely in the pages of my journals. I have no cares. No worries about grammar or structure. My goal is simply to express whatever thoughts and feelings come to surface. To capture them on the page where I can see them. Contemplate them. Process them. And witness my growth when I read them.

It doesn’t matter if my thoughts are choppy or incomplete. If I trail from one topic to another. If family and friends don’t understand them after I am gone.

Journaling centers and grounds me. Fuels and focuses me. It is authentic to the moment. Within its process, my only responsibility is to myself.

But when I approach writing in this blog I am immediately confronted with a sense of responsibility to you. You, the observer, who somehow alters me, the observed, before my fingers ever touch the keyboard.

Where is the free-flowing intimacy I looked forward to when – based on the content of my book – my web designer suggested that blogging was a natural for me?

What irony. I journal my way into self-publishing and because of that I have a relationship with a blog that baffles me. I lose intimacy between the pages of my journal and this computer screen every time.

A natural I am not. I do not have the skill of a true writer. I am an artist. As an artist, I have talent. I have training. And yet here I am writing. Not painting.

What am I doing here? I don’t need this blog to market myself. Divine Source and word-of-mouth sustains me.

This blog does not fulfill some ego need to be perceived as important or an expert in my field(s). I know what I am and what I am not; insight that comes to me in the pages of my journal and through the wisdom of family and friends.

I’m not looking for ways to crank up my life, to escape into busywork, or to build a publishing empire. I am ready to play. To see where my creative impulse takes me. To be an artist again. And I have an awesome partner to do that with. (I love you, honey.)

SO, WHAT NOW?

I will keep sharing. And I will be sincere because this blog is an offering. A way to communicate what sustains and inspires me. To hear what sustains and inspires you. A porch light on a dark street.

It was probably crazy for me to think that I could simply be me, the unobserved, in this blog. You are here and I cannot let go of my expectation that this needs to be time well spent for both of us.

But I want more. More from this time I spend writing and more from me. I ache for a shift in tone even though it may be imperceptible to anyone but myself. A tone that leads me to the place where I make my meaning. A meaning you cannot give me.

That is why I am writing this. And that is why I am posting this. Writer or not, I am responsible for the satisfaction and meaning I find in my own creative process. Kudos from outside is nice but fleeting at best.

So, there you have it. No resolution. Just me out of my comfort zone.

The porch light stays on.

So, that is the end of the original post. Please stay and make your way to the bottom of the original comments and let me know that you were here. As I said before, I would love to hear where you are on your map and how you got there. And if you write, journal or scribble!

Like this post? Then LIKE it … or SHARE it. Together we grow!

Forgive it Forward: Follow Those Footprints

Sometimes it helps to follow in someone’s footsteps – even if only for a short while. For that reason, Ray and I have started this series; a virtual footprint forum for muses with stories, ideas and tips that we think worth sharing. We hope your ‘walk’ with them makes your day a little lighter and brighter –and that you leave with something that inspires you to forgive it forward, backward, upward and downward!

This story is being shared under the category of forgiveness as a reminder. In the flurry of day-to-day living, it is moments like these, shared between a young boy and his mother, that capture the heart and are worthy of our capacity for memory – not the ones that disappoint. And when someone we love loses their ability to remember, these are the ones that we hold for them as well as ourselves. Which is why we found “A Fortune in Dough” by Ray Harwell priceless. So, sit back and pour yourself a cup of coffee, or tea if you prefer, and travel back in time with us as we share a precious memory in the making.

GUEST MUSINGS BY: Ray Harwell, Agricultural Research Assistant

 “Tell me the story, Momma.” It had been a while since the last time I had asked and I knew that if I asked too often she would say no. She acted as though she hadn’t heard a word I had said. I stood behind her, over near the fireplace, watching as she prepared her work on the breakfast meal. I stuck a thumb in my mouth and contemplated whether or not she had, in fact, heard me. This was somewhat dangerous ground. One false move here and there would be no story this morning. Why, it may even be days if I pushed too hard. In a flurry of action she had turned on the stove eyes and the oven, gotten stuff out of the fridgedair and had made several trips to and from the sink. I had to act soon. Making my way around the table (it was an extremely large table where all members of the family had a designated seat) I saddled up close to her right side. She looked down at me and in those big beautiful brown eyes I could actually see the love pour out and down on me.

“Oh, not this morning!” she said turning once again to her work. “Your daddy will be in from the barn soon and I need to have things ready.” It was time for a bold move. Removing the thumb from my mouth and wiping it on my shirt, I started tugging on one of the many straight-backed chairs that surrounded that grandest of all tables. I pulled and pushed and pushed and pulled until I had it right up against the cabinet to Momma’s right.  A quick glance assured me this had not caused her to stray from her task. The chair was in place with its back pushed tight against the cabinet and after a brief struggle I found myself in the most perfect place in the whole wide world.

Momma was still acting as if I was nowhere around and this was good. She pulled open the cabinet door that was directly in front of her and below. From there she retrieved the dough board and sifter. In one action she loaded the sifter with the right number of handfuls of flour (White Lily if you please) and placed it on the cabinet in front of her. I was amazed at how fast she could sift that flour and never let it spill over the sides but land perfectly in the dough board making a mound. Once again she stooped into the lower cabinet and came back up with just the right amount of pure hog lard in her right hand. Those hands of hers were a great mystery to me. With those same hands she had rendered the lard that she now rubbed onto flat pans and mixed into the flour. Those hands, that wiped with all tenderness the tears from my eyes, had picked cotton and hoed rows and rows. The little finger on her right hand was bent at the second joint and was stiff. I had asked her many times why that was but she would only say she hurt it as a child. I still can not rightly say. Even with that stiff pinky she worked that lard into the flour until it was exactly like she wanted it. She made a valley in the middle and poured in the fresh milk a little at a time with her left hand while mixing steady with her right.

My thumb had once again found my mouth and I leaned in close to her, my head against her hip. Even now when I think of this moment in my life, repeated so often before so many meals, I can still feel her warmth beneath a faded dress. Her smell fills my senses and I find, if only for an instant, that feeling of greatest love and security that can only be that of mother and son, the way it was intended to be.

The moment of truth had arrived. If Momma were going to tell me the story it would be now. She had kneaded the dough until it suited her and with a pat she pinched off the first biscuit.

“This is Ray on the day he was born.” she said as she rolled the tiny bit of dough in her hands and, patting it flat, laid it onto the greased pan.  “It was one of the hottest days in July.”  The story had begun.

Pinching off a slightly larger piece and rolling and patting it flat she said, “And this is Ray when he turned one year old.” She placed it in the pan next to the first one and I could see that I had grown in size. “This is Ray when he will start first grade and he will learn how to read and write.” Momma said, as she placed this even larger biscuit next in line. “You’ll have lots of fun there and you will be so smart!” she would say. “Who will my teacher be?” I would ask. “Will I like her?” “Maybe you will have Miss Thornton or you might have Miss Fleming.” she would reply. As she answered my questions she was preparing the next biscuit. In like manner, she took me through grammar school and into high school. I noticed the biscuits were now much the same size as her regular ones and she told me that I would continue to grow but not as fast and I wouldn’t notice it as much. Sometimes she would tell me of girlfriends I would have, of learning to drive and working on the dairy with Dad. She would usually take me through high school graduation and tell me how proud she was of me for getting through school. Then she would add a slightly smaller pinch of dough and place it on the pan really close to the last in line. “And this is the lucky girl that Ray will marry and he will love her very much and she will love him too!” she would say.  “What’s her name?” I would ask.  “That’s for YOU to find out!  You’ll know her when you see her.” was all she would ever say.

On a daily basis Momma made many pan-fulls of biscuits. Usually two, sometimes three, every meal for a long time. I only asked for the story at breakfast and have often wondered why. It may be that after the sun was up there were too many other things to hold my attention. It may well have been because that was the routine and like the cows, from which we gained our living, I was merely a creature of habit. For me, however, it was because that was MY time with Momma. My sister was still asleep; Dad and what brothers were still at home were at the barn milking. There was only the two of us in that small country kitchen as Momma told my fortune in dough and with it gave me insight into phases of life and love and even the heartbreak that would forever be part of me and of us all.

Many years have come and gone and in their goings have taken away many of the memories created so long ago.

 Several years ago, as Momma was struggling so valiantly against one of the worst diseases of this world, Alzheimer’s, I was watching her make biscuits. She was eighty-two, I was forty-six. She could still do pretty well. I eased up against her and said, “Tell me the story, Momma.” She stopped immediately with her preparation and after a brief moment she looked up at me with those same clear brown eyes of so long ago and smiled at me with a smile that could only have been sent from God. I swear that it warmed me like the sun breaking from behind the clouds on a cool day.  She did not attempt to tell me the story nor was I expecting her to. The moment was just that – a moment.

But in that fleeting moment we connected again on that level that was the love of mother and son, the way it was intended to be. Time nor disease will ever take away nor change this memory of mine. I will not let it.

My wife and sons and daughter (by the way, all foretold in long ago dough) have heard this story. My sister, Faye, has heard this story.  And now you can hear it, too. And with each telling or reading or remembrance time is rendered impotent in its abilities to steal.

I miss her. I miss her a lot. Writing this has been difficult for me but necessary. Not to share this great gift – so freely given to me by my mother so long ago that started me on my life’s journey and provided the ground for a connection years later – would be the most selfish of action.

So, that is the story. As I sit here in front of the computer screen and read it over with wet red eyes and tears on cheek, I think of how much I loved her – how I love her still.

Ray is a retired Agricultural Research Assistant with the University of Georgia.  He lives in Madison with his wife of 36 years. Their three children are grown and gone with five children of their own.  He is now occupied with the care of an old friend, 93 years young, and making wind chimes from glass and recycled materials. He is also finding the path from which he strayed in days gone by and is learning to reframe, forgive forward and reconnect with that inner artist abandoned so long ago.

Did you miss the Forgive it Forward video? Click here to see the 3-minute video!

Curious how it ALL started?  CLICK HERE to see the 2-minute video book trailer that started it all!

©2010 Enlightened Ink – If you are inspired to share or quote from this article please share us with it. If this is a guest post, permission will be needed from the writer as well. Together we grow.  

Did this make your day a little brighter? (Then “LIKE” this or SHARE this!) And feel free to comment or share a story of your own!

Forgive it Forward: Follow Those Footprints

Sometimes it helps to follow in someone’s footsteps – even if only for a short while. For that reason, Ray and I have started this series; a virtual footprint forum for muses with stories, ideas and tips that we think worth sharing. We hope your ‘walk’ with them makes your day a little lighter and brighter – and that you leave with something that inspires you to forgive it forward, backward, upward and downward!

In this post, we invite you to follow Michele’s footprints. (And we encourage you to pay close attention because, though she has a big heart, she has little feet that like to break out in dance.)

GUEST MUSINGS BY: Michele Sevacko, New Thought Minister

Note: If you always get what you desire … if you only attract “good” … then you might want to skip this post. (Or better still, contribute to this post!) 

If, like me, you’ve been involved in New Thought or Metaphysics for a while (even just a little while) or if you’ve explored the Law of Attraction, you may have heard the expression “what did you (or I) do to attract this?” 

I call this “Metaphysical Malpractice.” Often, all this question results in is feelings of guilt – ’cause if you’re attracting it, then you must’ve done something “wrong” or “bad.”  Right? 

Well, not really. There may be something that you could possibly do differently; but it’s not about making a judgment of bad, good, better, etc. That just takes you one step further into the land of guilt. (OR possibly resentment of the person(s) that suggested that you must have done something to draw this to you.) In either case, you’re now presented with an opportunity to practice forgiveness. And, in those times that forgiveness doesn’t seem to come easily, you’ll be happy to know that your willingness puts you halfway there. As well as dealing with the opportunities for forgiveness this brings up, you may also be interested in some ideas for how to eliminate this scenario. 

Enter the concept of being “divinely aligned.”    

With books, speakers and movies about the Law of Attraction being so popular, the power of our thoughts has come to the forefront of interest. This really isn’t anything new. It’s something the ancients knew, as in Romans 12 (The Bible) we read, “Be ye transformed by the renewal of your mind.” And more recently – but over 100 years ago – James Allen’s “As A Man Thinketh” was published.  And, yes, our thoughts are things, or as one song puts it “our thoughts are prayers,” so it’s important that we take care in the thought seeds we plant. However, to me, it’s about what I call being “divinely aligned.” 

What are you in alignment with? You are in alignment with universal law. 

Universal laws are those “eternal Truths” that work for everybody, all the time, no matter where they are. AND we don’t even have to know the law for it to work. And, just as we trust in the law of gravity, we don’t have to know HOW this works – we just have to know and trust that this DOES work. That’s the “good” news. 

It’s simple.

• To be divinely aligned starts with a thought. 
• Then whatever you think becomes a feeling. 
• Taking action and what you say then follows. 
• Once you have all these things working together, you’re in a position to manifest what you desire. 

Does it sound too simple? Are you thinking, “I already knew that”?

Sometimes, simple Truths aren’t easy Truths. The part that can be a little more challenging is that some things seem to come easily and others take more time. And, in those times we wonder what we’ve done “wrong.” Remember it can be an ongoing 24/7 process. And, because we are not isolated individuals, there are people, events, situations, etc. that pop-up and give us opportunities to grow. It requires focus and a conscious effort. 

So, the next time you’re faced with Metaphysical Malpractice, remember to practice forgiveness.  Or, if you participated in Forgive It Forward, remember (with a smile) that you’ve already done the forgiving. Give thanks for the opportunity for growth and understanding – and affirm your good. Then, as you take the steps of divine alignment – working on manifesting what you desire – remember to embrace all the good that shows up along the way!

Michele Sevacko is an ordained New Thought minister and lives in the Triad area of North Carolina with her husband and 4-legged kids. With a Ph.D. in Philosophy, specializing in Pastoral Counseling, she works from home (and heart) providing spiritual support services. Additionally, Rev. Michele serves through her Music Ministry sharing music and songs in churches, spiritual centers, the community and beyond. 

To find out more about Rev. Michele Sevacko and her Pastoral Counseling Ministry CLICK HERE 

To find out more about Rev. Michele Sevacko and her Music Ministry CLICK HERE 

You may also enjoy meeting Rev. Chele’s ”alter-ego,” Metta Fizzical, Ph.D. who received her education from the School of Life. Blending the wisdom of a meta-physician and some down-home advice, it is Metta’s joy to offer you her opinion on just about any of life’s most pressing questions – whether she knows anything about the topic or not.

Here’s one of Metta’s musings that we are going to try:

My favorite exercise for letting go of issues is to go on a rock hunt and collect rocks of all shapes and sizes that represent the issues, (i.e. – this rock represents getting fired and this rock represents being stood-up, etc.). Put them in a sack and when you can’t think of anything else (or your sack is full), tie it around your waist and haul it around.  At some point, (I hope) you will become tired of hauling around the “baggage.” At that point, cut it off and surrender it to the Universe, taking notice of how light you feel after releasing it. If nothing else, you will burn some calories carrying the extra weight so you win, no matter what. Now, doesn’t that sound like fun???

For more Metta CLICK HERE

Prayer: Be Positive … Be Practical … Just Be … As the title suggests, this e-Book explores the many various aspects of prayer with a focus on being positive and practical in your approach.

To find out how you can get a copy CLICK HERE

Did you miss the Forgive it Forward video? CLICK HERE to see the 3-minute video!

Curious how it ALL started?  CLICK HERE to see the 2-minute video book trailer that started it all!

Or check out Bernadette’s Pages. CLICK HERE to find out more! 

©2010 Enlightened Ink – If you are inspired to share or quote from this article please share us with it. If this is a guest post, permission will be needed from the writer as well. Together we grow.  

Did this make your day a little brighter? (Then “LIKE” this!) Are you divinely aligned? Waiting and wondering? Celebrating? Here’s your chance to walk and talk with Michele – or Metta, if you prefer!