Clearing Out

[mandyjw]

The UPS truck came after I moved the trash can and I was like "YES, you clear out stuff and you get more stuff! I wonder what synchronicity this is gonna be." But all that was there was the new puppy gate and for me, my "Bigger Better Nut Milk Bag", I ordered so I can make my own almond milk. 

Thanks for the joke universe, I know I'm nuts.  Wouldn't have it any other way. 

[DrewNows]

I enjoy this channel 

[mandyjw]

6 hours ago, DrewNows said:

I enjoy this channel 

 

I had to do a big grocery trip with both kids. Before I left I put on my rings and grabbed a necklace nearby. It's one of my seascapes with a crescent moon on one side and a full moon on the other.  I made it a long time ago, and when I went to sell it I noticed that there was a random pattern in it of figure walking on the beach on the side with the full moon. An angel, I said. Then I had this memory of wearing it to a show and a lady asking about it and me explaining why I kept it and the figure. And she said "It's you." I don't honestly know if she ever really said that or not. But... it's me. 

I've been in a state of "high", the vortex as Abraham Hicks calls it. I saw a bald eagle and then later on a pair flying together. I was thinking of my dream board and painting the hall yellow and I remembered the sign that we had been given as a wedding gift, that says "Happily Ever After". I didn't like that sign. I felt like it was bad luck or something. I never hung it up. A year ago the carpenter I hired was incredibly nice to me and helped me move the stuff in the garage overhead for a project. He took a load of trash to the dump for me too. We came across the sign and he asked if I wanted it. I told him I was superstitious about stuff like that. But I kept it. It's just a wood board after all and I have plenty of other random wood boards, why get rid of it? 

The idea of having that sign over my dream board in the hallway and finally not feeling afraid of that statement felt pretty amazing.

The moon was beautiful and I never knew I could be so happy entering Walmart hand in hand with each kid. Yesterday this song played and I felt it had a message for me but it kind of terrorized me a bit. I felt like I was waiting for something but couldn't get there. It was playing in the car but I didn't think about it much until we left to go in the store and my daughter started singing it. I sang it along with her in the parking lot. I bought a giant white board for my dream board and somehow had the energy to go to the paint store and get the yellow paint for my hall. My daughter started getting tantrumy and this lady took her to pick out paint chips. She said that she had four kids and was SO helpful. I was annoyed about how much the paint costs and when I checked out the computer wouldn't work so the cashier couldn't make me an account and I had to put it under my old contractor's account and the system gave me his discount. 

I went up in the garage attic to find the sign. At first I couldn't find it. "Did I get rid of it?" It was there, in some insulation. The lettering was sticker not paint,  and the decorative star on the end had melted off from being stored improperly. "What could I paint there", I thought? An apple?" I noticed that part of the H was peeling a bit. "What would it say if I peeled off the H?" I wondered. Appily Ever After??? 

Edited January 10, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

"Happily Ever After" *Bites apple* 

Oh! I feel strange! 

I watched this clip yesterday. I've been watching old Disney movies from my childhood with the kids, we started Snow White but are only half way through it. 

Edited January 10, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

Snow White stands for purity, perfection and pure beauty. The entire plot revolves around her beauty. The queen looks into the mirror at herself and is told (by herself), something she doesn't want to hear. She isn't the most beautiful. To the Queen this means that the one who IS must be destroyed. The Queen sits in a chair designed like a peacock. 

Snow looks into the wishing well, her voice and desire echoed back to her. The Prince sings "One song, I have but one song, my heart keeps singing, one heart, one love that has possessed me..." 

"Run child, into the woods, never come back, now go!" In Snow's perception she turns the woods into a terrifying haunted place, but then she colors her world beautiful again. The seven dwarves represent parts of the self. She loves and cares for them. They work hard and love her back. "Don't talk to strangers. Don't let anyone in." By anyone they mean the part of the self she doesn't want to face. 

The Queen turns herself into a hideous hag witch, who is in herself a separate character both an aspect of Snow and the Queen. 

The symbolism of the Queen or hags death is incredibly spiritually symbolic, as soon as Snow is "dead" it starts to thunder and pour. The lightning and rain and power from heaven awakens the masculine energies of the universe (self). The hag corners herself on a high ledge and the lightning kills her. The vultures watch happily. 

The Prince, (masculine aspect of Snow's self) is called, awakens her and off they go into the bright yellow light to their castle in the clouds, happily ever after.  

This lessons gleaned from this story are disastrous if you don't understand that every single character is you. And yet, that understanding is the journey and story itself. 

Every girl wants to see herself as beautiful, innocent and adored, but eventually will desire the power she is denying herself in her role, turning her into the Queen. Wanting to integrate her charm, innocence and beauty with power, she transforms into the hag to kill the maiden. Both power and beauty are killed. 

[mandyjw]

I don't believe in love. 

How could one believe in love and not kill it? 

I don't believe in beauty.

How could one speak of beauty and not kill it?

Yet I must, my purpose and passion on earth is to believe and love and speak of beauty!!! 

Through your love
existence and nonexistence merge.
All opposites unite.
All that is profane
becomes sacred again. -Rumi

 

 

[mandyjw]

@Marc Schinkel Very fitting!

 

Every single love song, every single love story is an analogy, pointing to God/Self/Source, not to love of another person/thing.

It's the biggest misunderstanding, so obvious when it's seen through. Ever singer is using their muse to sing about their muse but the words and the listener can only see their experience of romantic love. It's actually a song of praise of itself! But love of another is how it's translated to us. Survival includes the attraction necessary for reproduction and THEREFORE sexual attraction is the bridge between survival and God/Union. 

It's so perfect and so embarrassing and so FUCKING INCONVENIENT and crazy making. 

Would you take the limitless and select an object for it? Yet that's creation, the nature of focus itself. 

Every focused love of a selected thing is pointing to and expressing the love of God. 

Oooo... beauty itself is deceit and deception. I WOULD have associated the law of attraction and desire with the Devil. Of course! How could I not? I sold my soul to be born here and create with illusion the day I was born. I've been kidding myself ever since then. "I'm Snow White, I'm good." 

How does it express itself? How does it show itself? There is no reality without fiction! 

Not knowing this was painful. Knowing it...? MEANS I MUST NOT KNOW. I CANNOT know. 

 

[mandyjw]

My sister is four years and one week older than me. I was Daddy's favorite, and I really valued this position and did everything I could to keep it. I also truly resonated with my Dad, we shared a crazy creativity and passion for truth (Jesus, so we thought). I watched my sister go through so many challenges, and just observed my parent's reaction and so I designed my life to avoid all her mistakes. 

From a young age she was insecure about her looks. In my class I only had boys and then later a good female friend who's mom was the ultimate feminist. I was protected from caring or thinking about looks. She had a class with mean girls. We were taught that sex was supposed to be for life and while marriage was just a piece of paper, sex was a bond that could not be broken. I still hold this belief, somewhat. My sister was brave in a way. She was very open about her boy drama, and if I had feelings I hid them deep away. I felt like attraction was dirty, my body was dirty and I was a spirit in exclusion of those things. Once she graduated high school, she got a job working at a park like place and she got involved with a firefighter there. She thought that he would love her forever, and they would get married and have babies. She slept with him. He cheated on her quite quickly. I remember that he was a firefighter and he had a pet snake named Trinity that ate mice. Of course spiritual symbolism could not be absent from this memory/non memory. I went with her to feed Trinity once when he was gone fighting wildfires somewhere.

After this was a long succession of boyfriends, and she broke most of their hearts. She also got in a lot of car accidents, and somehow I was always along to come save her from them. She went to really good college and only stayed for two weeks. She bought a brand new truck and shortly after rolled it over on icy roads. I remember that it was nearly spring and she had bought some jelly beans and I was eating them. She got mad at me and ripped them away and left to go to work. I was home alone. 

A few minutes later she called and said she was in an accident. I didn't know what to do, I couldn't get our parents. I called Grammie and said the f word for the first time in front of her. Eventually I went to where she crashed. The jellybeans were lying there all in the snow. I picked up a piece of a broken red reflector and took it home with me and kept in in my memory box. I don't know why. 

There were three other mysterious car accidents. One, there was a bunny she avoided, in which she cut off a tree and was fine. There was the partridge that flew into her open window and hit her in the head and she went off the road. When we went to rescue her, there was indeed a dead partridge in the car. And there was the mysterious driver who pushed her off the road at her high school graduation. She was smart, smarter than me and so she had to give a speech at graduation. She charmingly worked in the fact her car was in the ditch at the present moment into the speech. 

I both looked up to her and looked down on her. 

Once my mom lost it over something and started throwing things around the house and my dad decided to teach her a lesson. It was shortly after Easter. The table was messy and my sister and I had Easter baskets on it. Everything got smashed and destroyed. My parents who I trusted so much to play their roles of taking care of me, weren't there but my sister was. My family talked things through over time. Easter baskets became a joke. 

We had a male phys-ed teacher. For some reason when I was little I used to be able to do more push ups than anyone in the entire school. My Mom got a job at the school and was part of some phys ed classes. My Dad threw a fit and called the gym teacher a creep for watching her do push ups or something. This made a huge impression on me. I was somewhat suspicious, scared and uncomfortable around the gym teacher and stopped trying around him. I continued the exact same pattern with the gym teacher at high school and every other male teacher I had. I mistrusted males and avoided them. 

There was a this fear and also strong tension there that I just didn't want to feel. Avoidance seemed the only route. 

Edited January 10, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

My dad used to talk about women's looks a lot in front of Mom. Maybe because he saw a lot of women on his job and had only ever slept with her, he thought he had this right. i don't think he realized how much it impressed the importance of looks and how seduced men are by looks and think little of everything else, in my sister's and my minds. My parents never commented on how we looked. 

I always thought my Mom was pretty, but she never wore makeup, nice clothes or showed any care or thought for looks beyond practicality at all, ever. Me and my sister felt pretty gas lighted on the subject of beauty. Were we supposed to care? How were we supposed to identify?  

Once my sister took me aside. "We are pretty you know. Mom and Dad never say it, but I just want you to know that." 

I call my daughter beautiful a lot and my husband doesn't like it, he doesn't want her to identify with looks. I don't know what to do. 

I hate that I'm a different person if I've spent 15 minutes putting on makeup, putting in contacts and nice clothes. When I'm wearing my glasses, I hide. I don't look people in the eye. It's like the insecurity within morphs to match what it thinks it looks like, what sort of situations it will attract. 

If I shaved my head and dressed like a Buddhist nun, I'd still care about appearances, still be shaping myself to form an image of expectation. 

I don't know how to find freedom here. I know the existential truth of beauty. The deception of it. But freeing myself of thought of it is like trying to free myself of the body itself. Not appreciating or caring for my looks feels like death. I tried to use it as a form of ego death. I gave up on looks shortly before the awakening. Then something possessed me and I dressed up from my grandmother's funeral. My own extended family members sometimes don't recognize dressed up Mandy from sloppy everyday Mandy. What does she reflect to the world but herself? She has many masks. Can she see through her own? 

Mirror, mirror, on the wall. A mask stares back at me. Do I listen to what it says? 

Edited January 10, 2020 by mandyjw

[Raptorsin7]

9 minutes ago, mandyjw said:

I call my daughter beautiful a lot and my husband doesn't like it, he doesn't want her to identify with looks. I don't know what to do. 

I think you need to find balance here. My parents did a similar thing with me where they commented on my looks growing up because they didn't want me to get an ego around it. It didn't matter, I was always insecure and vain and it really bothered me growing up until I was like 19. I think having a positive view about how you look is important. Looks are entirely subjective. What someone finds beautiful and what someone finds ugly varies to the point where one person can call something beautiful and someone else can call that same thing ugly. The important thing here is to find yourself beautiful. If you have healthy psychology it won't distort your ego because you will be focused on other things. And if you find yourself good looking then at some point you will just get used to it and move on from it. But if you find yourself ugly it can chip away at you and hurt your confidence like it did for me. 

I think it's important to just keep a good relationship with your daughter so that if she ever feels insecure about her looks she can talk to you. That way you can deal with the problem when it arises. Trust and openness are huge here. I remember when I was depressed when i was 19 a big reason was because I thought I was ugly and i didn't think ugly people could be as happy as good looking people at their ceiling. My parents would either shut down the conversation or they would try to persuade me i was good looking, but there was no trust so i didn't believe them. I wasted a year going in circles in my mind over this topic and i feel like if i had a trusting relationship with my parents and had healthy self esteem about my looks the whole thing could be avoided.

Now I consider myself good looking, but i don't spend all that much time thinking about it. It's like checking a box. Once i got it i just moved onto to the next thing. 

[mandyjw]

@Raptorsin7 Yes.

Confession, it bothers me that so many of the women here have profile pictures of themselves, while a handful of men do. It bothers me that self improvement for so many women is focused on appearance. 

I acknowledge that I want people to be attracted to me and at the same time do not want them to be attracted to me. I know that I dress down, don't meet people's eyes and am shy to avoid having to deal with awkward situations, and also that a part of me likes it when someone is attracted to me or I get a compliment. It's an internal war of tension and repression, avoidance and desire. This is all sideways thinking, all ownership of the situation. Neither solution, neither end of the spectrum works.

I ask myself what's the raw desire here? To inspire and be inspired. I have had a lot of brainwashing from society, especially as a female to over think on this subject. I've also had the rare blessing to be free to be a hermit and avoid the subject almost entirely.

The things I want (to inspire and be inspired) are butting up against this avoidance. 

I've created a strong story around it.

Today is the funeral for a lady I knew most of my life. I judged her a lot as a teenager, judged her for new reasons as a spiritual person and eventually came to love her despite that. Her name means "strong story". 

 

 

 

 

[mandyjw]

The last time I spoke to her, I was disturbed by her horribly long painted fingernails. The hag, the crone, the witch. She didn't care what anyone thought. 

 

[mandyjw]

Bleh. Completely lost focus. Probably got ahead of myself and wasn't paying attention. 

When things are good, they are so, so good. When I get away in thinking, it hurts more than ever. I'm getting better at turning myself around faster and faster. 

Stop (can't stop but slow) thought.

Go in the direction of what you want.

Right now I just need to stop. 

A message to and from Source to yourself,

 

Edited January 10, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

"Segment intending is the process by which you eliminate the predominant hindrances to your Deliberate Creation: influence of others who may have different intentions than you do, or the influence of your own old thought patterns." - Abraham Hicks. 

Ok, so meditation, dream boarding and segment intending seem to work all together. Segment intending seems to be the thing I really need right now in life. A couple nights ago I prayed like I used to, but was concious that I was asking for certain things and focusing positively. Praying is like a mix of dream boarding and segment intending and even mediation sometimes. Splitting them into three is like leveling up. 

Segment intending takes a lot of focus and presence. What is the benefit? Focus and presence. ?

Edited January 10, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

I've been making myself a victim of my own monkey mind, blaming everything but. The chaotic mornings, the unfinished projects, the messy house, lack of time, the overwhelm. Then I wonder why I have the general fatigue and lack of focus that results. Identify what you want and focus. "Over prepare and go with the flow", I used to say. Prepave, intend, dream and allow. 

[mandyjw]

There's a very subtle difference between focusing on shadow in a way that strengthens it, highlights it and makes it grow and focusing in a way that lovingly embraces it. I believe that it absolutely requires meditation or one to be a natural (unconscious) mediator. 

There seems to be a fine line between self love and narcissism. The spiritual ego says all kinds of things about the ego that aren't true. The ego can only ever be examined in oneself, by feeling. Other egos come into your experience and you know them by how they feel, yet it's all only occurring in your own experience. If you chose to play a unique role in life, and have a unique vibration or energy, to have unique talents, if that was by CHOICE, then you also chose the "bad" things to lead you along your way. Without self love, without paying attention to how you feel, without acknowledging and loving the talents, and the WHY behind the rest of it, there is no clearing out of past or letting go. 

When you are an ego your narcissism is just the other end of the coin of love self esteem. It's trying to push out low self esteem by force of power of ego. It's taken responsibility. Self love is the only cure. Does it seem like a good idea to tell a narcissist that they need more self love? Who wants to tell herself, who thinks she's a narcissist, to love herself? That seems like the furthest thing away from what she wants or should do. She thinks she is the voice in the head who cautions her, but quieting the voice is the self love. Low self esteem is a misunderstanding of what voice is the self. It's a cutting off from oneself of how they feel, of their joy and true source of power. 

When she is connected to the true self, she has the power to rewrite her own story. The story itself was never the problem, the storyteller was. You see we all live the same myth, but the art is in how you tell it. 

 

Edited January 11, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

It's a myth that some characters aren't as loved as other ones. It's a myth that there are characters. 

I am unraveling my own myth. 

I believed that there were things that could hurt me, trigger me, make me uncomfortable. I believed that I could hurt, trigger and make others uncomfortable. 

When I was a kid I put huge emphasis on truth. I lied to my parents about brushing my teeth when I was very young and then took upon myself the belief that lying was really bad. The problem was that I noticed because of this that there were just situations where I didn't know the truth. I didn't know that my life was one big car accident that happened so fast (or not at all rather) than no one remembered anything about it and were scrambling to fill in the blanks based on what made sense to them. 

After I read Harry Potter through the second time, I must have been 19 or so, I got inspired to write my own story. I never mapped it out entirely. It was about a girl who grows up in an awful cursed town, and she is adopted, pretty similar theme as Harry Potter. I only ever wrote the first chapter. It starts with her accidentally falling asleep in a field watching the clouds. It was long before I started meditating or heard that analogy. She was found in the woods, abandoned as a baby and a woodsman found her and adopted her. His wife never liked her nearly as much and when he died so she was pretty much a slave to her adoptive mother and lived in the attic of the old house. This was before I even knew anything about old houses. The house we did buy had a sort of attic but was on the same level as the upstairs because it was part of a funny old addition on the house. On the very end of the room, there was no floor and it was a storage room. I found a hideously creepy ornament there and an old police siren. Something about the room spoke to me. It had this old odd short door to it, cut off at an angle so it would fit in along with the roof. There was a keyhole cut into it but the door opened with just a hook latch. I wanted so bad to renovate that room into a master bedroom but it seemed too difficult. We didn't heat it. In the winter I would often love to see the sunlight pouring through that keyhole and the crack along the door that didn't shut all the way. It reminded me of the quote "We are all broken, that's how the light gets in." 

Anyway, in the story the girl is lead by a witch or a hag in a white nightgown deep into the woods and she discovers her past, her people and her magic there. One of the themes I had was that if you lie you lose your magic, your power is in your truth. She is reunited with her people but it is short lived and she ends up going on a quest to see some sort of wizard (ok I hadn't planned it all out yet ) on the top of a mountain. And he ends up being tied with everything and is in fact her father. (oh shit) 

She thinks she can escape the boring town but healing and integration is the theme and resolution. I remember walking around town here and just being filled with this sort of feeling that felt like fantastic inspiration for the book. When I got off on really negative thought patterns I used to brainstorm ideas for this book and the other one I've talked about in the past. 

And so I have tapped into the radical implications of no time and infinite love, which is that past and future only exist here in the present and so every single story, every single separation or clue, or mystery, or event within the story gets resolved and tied in in the "end", (the now). 

You see, the resolution can only be as brilliant as the amount of spiderweb chaos complexity of the buildup in the story. The awakening was a glimpse, like being taken up in an airplane and seeing the beautiful design of the labyrinth from overhead, then dropped back to the lost place in which you were. 

Come on my dear, put it together now! YOU saw the pattern of the maze! Liberate yourself already.

Ah..., but you see, that would be too easy! I got lost and I asked for a hint. I got the hint. Now the labyrinth exists as a fictional idea in my head. I had a glimpse of the actual patterns but now I'm left with just the translation I made with the filter of my old mind patterns and flawed memory to go by. 

It was beautiful though, wasn't it? 

Yes, it was beautiful. But you know what I really love, more than the idea of getting out? The thrill of working through this maze. 

Edited January 11, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

Oh, the clockmaker from the city I wrote in red on the dream board and kept having connections with had a labyrinth built in his honor. I'm hot on the trail. It seems I have fresh new spirit guide from the 1800's. Come play with me.

As if there ever was such a thing as a me, a spirit guide or the past.  Oh but I do love all three of us, that is true. 

[mandyjw]

So what if she so indulges herself by telling herself only the stories she wants to hear? What if she lets them lead her on adventures? What if she creates her own dream world whenever "reality" feels bad. 

What if it really doesn't matter what other people think? What if that is another fiction I've been making up in my head the entire time? 

What if there is truly no ground or should?

What if the story of sanity is just as real as the story of Humpty Dumpty? 

What story would you choose to tell? What story feels amazing to tell? 

What if it doesn't matter what "value" or influence come out of it? What if value and influence is just as real as the tooth fairy? 

Yesterday I painted the hallway yellow. It's really fucking bright. I was hating myself the whole time. The house is all done in white, with some grays, blues and greens. I told myself I was crazy, for painting the wall yellow and just plain old crazy, and doubted myself the whole time. isn't yellow the color of craziness itself? It felt awful. I checked the clock midway through and saw the time was 1:11. Alignment. 

I went to visit my mother because I didn't want to come home to a yellow wall and a messy house. I read about segment intending and mom made popcorn and I sat on her couch and played the role of her kid again. It's a nice break from the role of being a mother myself. When we got home both the kids loved the yellow wall and it made me smile. They had cereal for supper and bright red apples. When we got groceries, we ended up buying four bags of apples because no one could agree on what kind they wanted. My daughter left her apple core smack dab in the center of my yellow hall.

I love the smell of paint. When I walked into the paint store the smell immediately hit me. I love to paint. I've painted the entire house, inside and out. I've gutted through most of the walls, seen inside them, and found old treasures within each. Old shoes, old bottles, an old hat. I made a shadow box with some of them. Shadowbox, snicker. 

 

[mandyjw]

Because of strange circumstances, and a long story I don't feel like telling now, getting that attic bedroom I wanted meant seriously jeopardizing my relationship with my dad. The renovation was incredibly difficult and took place over the winter, two blizzards delayed it and the entire time we were living in one crowded room. I ended up doing all the painting myself on a deadline to stay on budget to get it done. The contractor went against our wishes and gutted the upstairs in one go. He cut through walls and completely redid the rafters. It was pretty horrifying. Had he respected what we asked, I'd never have had had the attic bedroom. I remember the feeling of painting it, and going to another place. I was overworked, over stressed and felt penned in but I had tasted freedom, and I had gotten my desire, expanded my world and tapped into something beyond me. This was my first taste of law of attraction, manifestation without knowing it at the time. 

The first room we finished and painted, (the whole house was gutted except two small rooms) I wanted to celebrate so I painted a painting for the wall. It's a path that ends in light. 

The home I live in itself, my shelter and the story of it, is a myth. An analogy. A pointer. Everything I've been inspired to do ever leads here.