The Tentative Tarrier

“You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

-Christopher Robin to Pooh

 

I would guess that Christopher Robin is much more observant than Pooh. Or it may be true that we simply don’t know the extent of our own nature or the power of influence in our own behaviors. Perhaps, being mind-logged is the greatest disservice to our episodes of humon interaction. “Who am I? How do I appear? Am I up to the task?  What will people think of me?” I call that running the gauntlet of dissuasion. In excess, questions that derail and detain are defeatist. The biggest step is the first one out of the gate. After that, they come more easily and with accelerating momentum.

If there is something to do, somewhere to go or someplace to be… I find it successful to move in a dedicated fashion in that direction. What bogs me down are the questions of capacity, competency, endurance and physical bias. The only program I need to work today… is the First Step program. Once I’m in the field, the wind will carry me, the earth will support me and the sun will carry me through.

Q: Are there any circumstances that loom large on your agenda, causing all kinds of debilitating questions,
     delaying or even canceling the event?

Best wishes for your Hero’s Journey,
Whisel*

The Saturday Within My Grasp

Where shall I travel this fine day, with its thick, grey vista rolling in cloud after cloud after aching thunderstorms assaulted my windows early in the morning hours. The cats well hidden from the noise, in closets, in boxes, huddled in corners from the lightening and booms not 20 feet away. . my knees stuck with pins were scrambling last night as i lay dreaming of soft sand and a late afternoon sun.

I ask you, you  marvelous gods of fever and furnace, which way is hope? Shall I wait for a sign? Or listen for an owl? I am shown a pyramid of green metal, small shallow steps toward a gold apex atop where no one sits and nothing calls to me. I stand back to understand the sight, but I have no inclination to climb. I realize this is just a symbol of someone else’s artistic idea. Not mine to interpret or experience. An artform that means nothing without a legend to point to its genius. Someone, looking like a vague imprint of the Beat Poet of Christ, puts a finger to his mouth to hush the conversation. Above me empty candy wrappers float in space. The clear cellophane kind that crunch unmistakeably when opened by the fingers of desire. They symbolize the transparent layers of containment, opening for airing out and emptying when the sugary taste has passed.

 The wind gasps and murmurs oooooh. It is just that kind of day, when hands-on physicalities grope for steadiness and purpose.  I am sure that all my good fortune will equal to a basket of neatly folded laundry.  One work day in the can. And then the enrichment of the evening. I will bathe my brushes in paint…. ah the watery brews of acrylics, red, russet and sienna. Not indigenous to the subject, but an undercoating for the harbor where the misty boats and ships are moored safely on the cusp of the seas. I hear the ringing of the chains and links clinking mildly as they rock the wooden hulls to the moorings, knocking back the glisten of an unperturbed ocean. Then I will paint it blue and purple and pink over the shallow ocher silt. If you can get to the waters edge today, bring a compass and a quart of tea. We can sit on the dock, watch the little movements of life shimmer seductively, rocking themselves into the ecstasy of their own reflection.

Back at the office of reality, I will fulfill my obligations of payment to my debtors,  the small pieces of paper will be conquered and checked, enveloped,  stuck fancifully with a new, modern 44 cent stamp… each.  And a sweet note of forgiveness to Bear who drove to Corpus Christi without me.

Writing excerpt by Jeff Poniewaz, who is alive and living in Milwaukee, WI. (many of our seaworthy adventures are chronicled by landlocked sailors)

  One way the work could survive in joy is if the whole world worshipped whales.

If ancient Egyptians worshipped cats, how much more we should worship whales.

I really believe we should worship the whales & regard them as superior

(if not actually supreme) intelligentsias for they can nowise hurt us.

Unlike most the of Gods currently worshipped, their whole being is exultation & play.

I believe we should apprentice ourselves to whales & dolphins

more eagerly than any other humon guru. The whales sing & play all day.

When they’re hungry all they do is open their big mouths

(how can they help it if millions of krill happen to seep in?)

Yes, the whales sing & play all day & don’t have to mail their songs

to any publisher whales in order to be free from the factories,

just blow geysers of ecstasy all day long.

 

  But someone has to pay the bills, answer the phone, caretake the cats, dust and tend to domestic destructions.

But please, I pray,  make it quick and effortless, so that I can sail before sunset.

 

Best Wishes, Whisel*

Up and Down the Mountain

I must walk my given path because around any particular corner comes a thought, a spoken pain, a brave direction. I take little steps because I no longer have to hurry. I can pause and linger. I empty out. I am filled. New stories are fed to me.

I have no home but the moment I’m in. Each step is freer, less anxious about where it is going. Rather than climb the mountain, I am rappelling now, pausing to enjoy the colors and niches I created on my way up, toiling and sweating to get there.  And the Up was worth the climb, the solitary stroke of the pickaxe that brought me to the heights of so many heavens. I went my own way out of curiosity, out of love, out of selfishness, out of guidance and adventure.  I went as a learner, an observer, a hero, a child, a rebel, a bird, an acrobat, a lover, a friend. Whatever I was and whichever way I went, I made it funny, clever and breezy, sometimes with so light a touch so as to ensure I would not find my way back along the same route.

But as is the experience of all sojourners, I met my causes and characters along the way. I stumbled into  the caves of being and becoming where I took shelter, needing the darkness to transform me into light.  So dear to me now, these painful deaths of illusion. I light a candle, rub a shell, turn the beads and kiss the small pieces of wood on the altars of remembrance. I love them even more since I understand that they were sent to pierce me, to detain me, to reveal me. 

This mountain, once so solid and imposing, slides into a gentle sleep, dreaming of the universe it contains, its cosmic application. This mountain, that grew from an architect’s karmic design, exhales a great, warming, welcoming breath, becoming soft and malleable, collapsing itself into a valley, a meadow where sheep run alongside of me into a field of deep clover. I lay there smiling at the Sun, pondering with the Moon, reflecting on the journey thru time space I have made…. I will make…. I am making. 

Best Wishes, Whisel*

Practical, with a Hint of Whimsy

I can remove spots and pick up stains, while sitting close by in my chair. It whirs, whizzles, buzzes and sucks. A great, portable appliance that picks up spills, splashes, upchucks and cat-slides. ha

Plus, it leaves charming little crop circles in the carpet afterwards. For an INTJ, it’s fabulous! Think … Willy Wonka.

Best wishes, Whisel*

Spontaneous Connections

Sitting outside, everyone came traipsing out  in a festive mood. Must be the break in the gloomy-sky days. Affectionate, expressive Muslim women in colorful wraps hugged me with great gusto on their way to the neighborhood walkways, finally to rest on fresh blades of grass. Then the old ones, the quiet ones and the younger, energetic ones came over to squeeze and hug happily and tightly, such joyfilled greetings. And dogs that sniffed my shoes and licked my legs. There was all this and the laughter, the gnats and the small breezes that blew them over the lake. Neighbors who knew me, in hats with dazzling sequins on there way to big-box stores, having engaged a nephew or cousin to pick them up and whisk them into the late afternoon. And a big pot of pink and white trailing petunias that we pushed into a sheltered corner so they wouldn’t be destroyed by impending thunderstorms heading our way. Oh, it was grand alright and you never know if it will be, or if the mood will be whiney, ornery or just plain silent.

But I love the festive times, the better than best happy times… when the sweetness of humon beings opens and flows.

Best wishes, Whisel*

The Turn-Around Day

A day of tranquillity, I thought. But in a house where cats live, phones ring, things fall down, whether I touch them or not….. in such a slip-shod Temple of the Holey Moleys, the cackle of a humorous divinity reigns. Today is MY day, I said. Immediately the phone rang.

The grocery store, order-taker who calls me twice a month ON WEDNESDAY, chirped in with a sweet hello. She is going to be in Nebraska on Wednesday and could I give her my order now? I gather all my fluttering notes together and somehow chant the litany of White Things, soft things in cans, some odds and ends like low-fat protein and real sugary Popsicles. I sound like such a good devotee of the Bland Diet, but honestly, I ordered some hot dogs and other chemically fabricated food-like things. Yeah, grease. I have to have what I want now and then. Then I pay the price and go back to plain toast. It’s my gastronomical cycle-of-life.

Afterwards, I plop my latest canvas on the easel and decide to work on it. Of course, I cannot find the photograph that was my inspiration. I look in all the special places I might put it, so I wouldn’t lose it. It’s not there….or there.  ”This is not a stumbling block.” I mutter. “It’s an opportunity to do something new.”

            So I turn the canvas upside down and begin a different sketch. It’s a cat. It looks a bit disturbed, don’t you think?.  The picture in the newspaper looked so much more like a normal feline.

 But this is just the first sketch, where I lay down paint and create the composition. There are hundreds of brush strokes still to come. On other days of tranquility, when I plop the canvas onto the easel and can’t find the cat picture. Maybe the painting will become a white buffalo or a coelacanthe. There are only so many things I can plan and prepare for ahead of time. Being artistic isn’t one of them. I just paint with what’s in front of me and the inspiration at hand.

Be glad you are who you are. And if you aren’t who you wanted to be, get over it. 

As well as being intelligent, kind and talented, each of us is worthy of having a fascinating, peculiarity, hammered out and toned…. as uniquely our own. This is what the Life-Force is all about.

Best wishes and big eyeballs….  Whisel*

Born Again

Oh celebrate with me, dear Readers and Posters, for I have once again found the light……… meaning after a few hours of rifling through cabinets and files, I was able to extract my original Birth Certificate from the many folders of paper I keep for their historical or sentimental value. Huzzah! Now, how many of you can put your hands on your own golden document wihin ten minutes or less? You must not misplace this item, ever! So go find it. Put it in a labeled folder. File it is a steel cabinet where a tsunami or brush fire can’t reach it. Then put little post-it notes in often-used books and tablets that tell you where it is. That’s my modus operandi.  

When any agency requires evidence of your birth certificate, they always want the ORIGINAL. Mine is an old, yellowed, brittle piece of parchment that looks like it might have been buried with the Gnostic Gospels at Nag Hammadi. Except for the fossilized cellophane tape holding it all together. This ancient piece of paper with it’s semi-raised seal of authenticity says I was born in 1945. On the outer-most cusp of the Baby Boomers. I am their older sister.

Some fabulous folks were born in 1945.

Although I never Danced With the Stars, played a kooky Actress in movies, or hardly ever was mistaken for a Queen, I was born to be a Whisel* and that’s good enough for me.

In a few days or weeks, I’ll be presenting my ORIGINAL Birth Certificate and other identifiers to acquire a State I.D.  After that, I can apply for transportation services offered through Metro-Mobility. They come and pick you up and take you anywhere within reason. Which means, Texas is out of the question. But it is a helpful service just the same. I can make my own arrangements for appointments and outings whenever I want. Since I’m a recovering Insomniac, I hope they have Night Owl Service 

Best Wishes, Whisel*

Where the Whales Are

 

After I retired, I wanted nothing to do with goals. When I was employed, I had nothing but goals and objectives to meet and process. My working life was all about completing assignments and measuring progress. Multiple projects and multiple deadlines to juggle. I was so… done with that stressful level of existence. Making things shine for the reputation of other people. Sure, I was appreciated and feted. But the more I did, the more I was given to do. Salary expansion was not on the table, just a heaping helping of opening productive doors, re-inventing policies and procedures, and fine tuning staff behaviors so that they complied with expectations. I did it with grace for as long as possible. Then, as more items were added to my job description, I did it with a physical and emotional cost to me. Eventually, the body and the mind could not do it anymore. It broke me. I walked away limping, scrambled brain and all. That was five years ago.

 

So you can imagine, all I wanted for this next stage of my life was: peace, ease, fun and no, no, no, no stress. But even in a state of being semi-reclusive, life has a way of seeping in through the cracks. If you don’t go out to meet it, it will surely enter of its own accord. I learned that one should have coping skills to engage in it on an appropriate level, rather than learning how to resist it at every turn. Because if you do, you may find yourself in the shallow end of the pool, wondering how you got there.

 

It isn’t a matter of having physical adroitness or impeccable endurance anymore. It’s a matter of mustering up ones vitality, drumming up the power of the lifeforce. I may have to splash around in the goldfish pond for awhile, before I venture out into the waves. But I have goals now to get me moving, more and more each day. My spirit is onboard, wanting to swim out to sea, whistle for the whales, climb on their backs and ride with them into the open ocean. A lofty vision, you may remark, but it’s my way of speaking about what is possible and available to me.  Heck, if Stephen Hawking, with his genius mind trapped in a deformed, unsuppotive body could go into space on a rocket, I can surely devote myself to the gumption and method to propel me toward my own horizons. Yes, I can. 

 

Best wishes, Whisel*

 

PS: What are your goals to motivate you toward growth and expansion?

Bounce

Usually when you hit the wall, get the rug pulled from under your feet or hit bottom, you hear a sound. Maybe a thud, a thwack, a splat or a boom. Consider it a wake-up call. If you’re unfortunate, there may be only silence as you slide unknowingly into a miasma, disappearing from your own personality. If so, get help immediately. Be happy for the sound effects. They create ripples that others will notice and hopefully,  comment upon.

As I was floating around in neutral state of existence, I got noticed for what was lacking in me: Personality. Lo and behold, I had slipped into a chronic state of dis-eases and aging quickly beyond my years. How did that happen? Well certainly, living in a senior apartment building helped set the stage for  me to lapse into a torpor. Having a few more physical discomforts stirred the brew.  And  ”Going with the flow” may be good advice for the rigid-minded, but having that as a daily mantra turned out to be a little lax for the easily influenced.

When I understood with my mind that I had slowly abandoned the frisky and independent adventures in my life for bobbing lazily down the stream in an innertube…. I woke up. I remembered: “ Hey, I’m supposed to be involved with life, with people. I’m supposed to be having fun!” My spirit yawned and stretched, giving me a wink: “It’s about time you get back to the activity of being A Whisel*  Holey cajoley!  ….. an Epiphany!

I don’t need a special mission, a super-power. Not fame, not fortune. Not celebrity, nor any fabulous talent. I just had to get back to who I was, how I was and not let situations keep me down. Sure, there are ebbs and low tides in everyone’s life, multiple times. For anyone who wants to sail the high seas, get ready to get washed over board now and then. I didn’t thud, thwack, splat or boom. It was a little quiet thing that somebody noticed and commented upon.

When I integrated it within all my systems, I fell back in surprise… yes, yes, it was true and given the “aha” moment, everything within me leapt for joy. And from that murky bottom…..I bounced. Up. No time to waste. Let’s get busy… visiting with people, playing catch, playing anything, and planning a Beach Party for July. No time to waste…… let’s have fun! Fortune cookies, anyone?

Best Wishes, Whisel*

Cosmic Influences

A friend sent me this info:

“on May 28, Neptune began its yearly retrograde.  This is a period that will last until November 5th of this year, so take advantage of this window to revisit a dream, an ideal or a vision you’ve had.

Now is the time to tune in to your deepest core principles and to create a larger vision!  Think about how far you’ve come over the last 11 years.  During that time of Neptune’s transition, you’ve been prompted to make positive, healthy changes in your life.  Neptune has been in the same area in your chart pushing, cajoling, prompting you to invest in your life vision.”

I do believe in planetary influences that shake up my life. I can’t keep track of all the vibrations that impact the  journey, but I do know that when something is shaking down here, then something is shaking up there.

There is me, the intelligent, emotional Decision Maker. Then there is everything else: karma, spiritual agreement, mission, subconscious direction, guidance, learning, chakras balance or not, astrological and planetary influence, relationship, growth, and configuration of soul design within the individualized Being…. everything else that seems to break things down into puzzle pieces again. Hooray for companion travelers that are bouncing around the Universe with me. Just when I think I’m “there”, the “there” turns out to be a misty mesa with no permanent foundation to support me. Much of the path can be walked, but some of it has to be climbed or crawled with great difficulty. Then too, new and unexpected surfaces are overlaid atop of it.

I want to embrace the poets. I want them to speak for me. But they push me back. They show me a road only I can take. They hand me a pen and paper. And vanishing into their own parade, they move along. This is how it is done. Pay attention. Make little changes. Get involved. Take notes. Encourage others to do the same. And so it is.

Even the unsettling times are better than no times at all.

Best Wishes, Whisel*