Transfiguration

I've been told for years by the They Academy that my Responsibility Meter is much more developed than my Small Daily Pleasures Meter.  I've also been told by this same group that I have never begun developing my Asshole Meter.  I refuse to develop an Asshole Meter.  Can we stop listening exclusively to the They Academy when it comes to developing areas in Western understanding crudely referred to as body/mind and mental health and so forth?  (more posts about this to follow)  

The They Academy is interested in statistics and research - in what has happened in the past if we isolate x and study it against controls.  I am, too.  It's fascinating.  I love it.  I just read some brand new research this morning about statins as SomaSoup's GeekWizard takes a statin.

I am also extremely interested in listening and hearing and embodying and deciphering and living my on going perceptions and somatic experiences of the wisdom of the Universes. 

The wise, beautifully detailed and quirky (with me at least) Universes - or, moniker of your choice for these magical realms in which we dwell - had been trying to send me a specific message for a number of years.  I successfully drowned out these frequent and subtle messages with the scratchy noise of my "crucial" responsibilities to everyone and everything but meeesayelluhff. The Universes upped the ante, and the messages became health incidents and harder to ignore, for sure.  I could still chalk it all up to work stress and try to drink more water and take more herbs - yada, yada, yada.  And, yes, indeed, stress it was, but it was soul stress; psychic stress; spirit stress; never processed grief stress; and 50 years (at the time) of repeated crushing of my idealism, idealism which, despite all odds, rose again and again and again like a, yeah, you know ... 

On March 20, 2013, I was working away at home during was what was supposed to be a  "break" and by the evening I was, as I later found out, in an Intensive Care Unit and quite close  to, if not in fact for a few moments, not living.  This was the beginning of my transfiguration, though I was yet to go through much dross and dreck for the next year and experience much shocking malevolence that was in the works while I was actually struggling for life in that very hospital - though I wouldn't find out about this aspect for many for months to come. What is visited upon one, ultimately, has to do the fates of others, too.  I do have to add that it is sure easier to write about than it has been to consistently understand on a cellular level - like at this very moment.  Uh, moving on ... 

Kismet.  Fate.  Doors open.  Sometimes the secret garden is right there.  Sometimes you have to open a few more doors.  Sometimes the first 37 doors blow open, hit you in the face, and break your nose every single time until you get to number 38, the one with the damned secret garden!

The garden is mirthful mobile mindfulness put into motion, man.

Come join me.