Tag Archives: growth

The Benefits of Having a Stalker

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How productive! Insted of throwing it, she made it into a clock!!

Some things seem so random to me.

 I have successfully left alot of unhealthy behaviors in my past and moved on. It has not been easy but I work hard on becoming the woman I want to be. The mother I want to be. So, when I am attacked from behind, I have to stop and wonder if the attacker truly spends their days and nights thinking about me. I guess that’s what stalkers do.

I told you about my first stalker. Now, my second stalker is different. She is not a pedophile, I don’t think… and she is not stalking me for me. She is obsessed with me and my family. I guess I should be flattered, but really I find it disconcerting and very insane not to mention annoying. I suppose it is naive of me to believe that just because I have grown and changed that other people have also. That’s not how it works. Otherwise, I would have surrounded myself with healthy people and then instantly been transformed into a healthy person myself without any hard work.

Now, my current stalker utilizes all the modern technologies. She has hacked my email and followed me to message boards. She has called a few times but for the most part has taken a shine to the Facebook. It’s one thing to stalk me, but stalking my kids is just ridiculous. I suppose that stalkers in general are so filled with a sense of self-importance that they truly believe that the people they turn their attentions to will feel gratitude. They do not understand that their attentions are unwanted and unappreciated. Who can really understand the mind of a stalker?

But it occurs to me, to be a stalker, one would have to spend alot of time thinking and planning a way to get to the prey. In other words, a stalker would have to spend time in the shit. The dirty, smelly, sticky, shit. Because if one is planning to hurl shit, one has to touch shit. One has to become very familiar with the properties of shit so as to be able to throw it and hit their mark. That doesn’t sound like a whole lot of fun. Nor does it say alot about the type of person a stalker is. Because we all know that if you play with shit, you get shitty.

Sure, I got hit with the shit, but she had to “become one” with the shit to be able to sling it. Me? I can wipe it off and keep on keeping on. Her? Well, I am not sure if you can ever get rid of that kind of shit. Then again, everyone has the ability to change, if they really want to and seek out new ways of living. I have.

Anyway, I do have gratitude for the fact that having a stalker again has given me a chance to look at myself and my ways of being an adult. I found myself lacking and so I changed some behaviors. Having my stalker also intimidate and harass my children has made us communicate about issues that I have tried to keep from them. Like stalkers and unhealthy behaviors and what to do when hit with flying shit. So, it has been a mixed blessing and a learning experience. No one is perfect, we all just do the best that we can in this life. If I make a mistake, I have the ability to apologise and make amends and move on. No longer stuck in the shit. In the grande scheme of things, it’s all a shiny turd shower that will eventually pass and the grass will be greener for the fertilizer.

Eat, Pray, Love, Grow Up, Have Kids

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A while ago, I read the book Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I resisted reading this book cause I considered it chick lit and kind of new age-y and I was in a Tough Girl phase of life. Ya know, with the “screw off whiney women and stick that incense burner up your ass while you’re at it” attitude. I had some issues with the new age movement…and anything that was overly girly. Identity crisis maybe?

 Prior to reading this book, I was thinking about a friend who I had lost contact with. The one with whom I had visited an ashram and met a guru. In fact, I was telling the story of how I met this friend and how I visited the ashram and how I was so grateful for the experiences I had and how those times taught me that I will always be taken care of no matter what.I was so young to find such faith and it had alot to do with this friend and our trip to the ashram.  This was right about the time I finally broke down and bought Eat Love Pray. I mean everyone was talking about it. Fine, I’ll read it.

It was a great book. I totally identified with the woman, her struggles, her desires, her journey. And the really neat thing was she was talking about the guru I had met! She spoke of the ashram that I had visited! Although the author’s experiences weren’t exactly mine, the feelings definitely were. I related to her depression, her abandonment, her search and her eventual peace within herself. I had been there done that and had the mandala beads to prove it!

I went to the ashram when I was 18 years old. There were free roaming cows and statues that were about 6 and a half feet tall of important people in history. There was one of John Lennon and Martin Luther King, Jesus and Kennedy. There were beautiful temples and gardens. I slept in a dorm, with 40 other women, on a steel frame bunk bed…and I actually slept. I sat cross-legged on a marble floor for over two hours while the guru spoke. I ate vegetarian food and wore clothes that covered my body. It was very different from the life I was living at the time. Extreme opposite as a matter of fact.

I was smacked with peacock feathers by a woman, a guru, who was stunningly, beautifully bald. Learning about the choices she had made for her life was so interesting. She had given up all material things. She had given up sex! What??? She was so young and beautiful! I came to understand that it was to pursue her calling, her desire. She had no time for vanity, or selfish sexual pleasures, or the pursuit of financial gains. Come on, you’d be in awe also. The chanting was soothing and everyone around was so serene and peaceful. It was like a bit of heaven after living in the strange hell-like atmosphere of my life in the early 90’s. 

I haven’t returned to the ashram although it has always been something I am intending to do. I want to bring my kids to give them an In Real Life taste of something different. A different idea or philosophy, way to look at life. My friend who brought me was lucky enough to actually travel to India, when she was just a little girl, with the Guru  to live and learn in the ashram there. I am still amazed, when I look back at that period in my life, how incredibly blessed I was to move half way across the country and meet this particular group of kids (we were all just kids) who helped shape me into the woman and mother I am today.

When I lived in texas, my friend and I were selling beaded necklaces to raise money for her trip to Afrika. We had a nice mexican made blanket that we were sitting on, in the middle of a festival. We got up to go grab some drinks and came back and the blanket was gone! I was immediately pissed off and ready to search around and find the thief who took something that was ours! My friend made a quick search of the immediate area, asked a few people in the vicinity and then turned to me and said “Well, who ever took the blanket must have needed it more than me. I hope it will keep them warm.” I was like “WHAT??? Call the police we have been STOLEN FROM!!” I think she laughed at me, which made me laugh at me and a lesson was learned.

I eat, but nothing spectacular. I pray, when I remember to. I love, in the most basic sense. I grew up knowing that there is power greater than myself and that power lives within me. I have kids and believe they will eat, pray and love in their own ways on their own terms. All in all, it was a great book, I am looking forward to the movie and I am reminded today that love is in everything we do, in who we are and all around.

I’m off to pull that incense burner out of my ass and maybe do some chanting. Love to all and all to love.

Namaste

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love in all it's glory

I love people. There are so many characters out there. I went to yoga the other day and in walks a guy, older, with a head band, huge square glasses, wristbands and shiny shorts. He had on a tank top and fanny pack with tube socks to complete his yoga outfit. He rolled out his mat next to mine, snapped off the fanny pack and positioned his very hairy body in a relaxed child’s pose. I love this guy. He is exactly who he is. He is not making excuses or trying to be someone he just isn’t. He is very comfortable with himself or he is from the group home up the street. Either way, he is wonderful in my eyes.

As I looked around the class, I saw some other characters. There was the skinny chick who looks like she just might fall over from hunger. Large, owly eyes and bones protruding from places we generally do not see bones, like her ass. But she had a sweet smile and was as awkward as the day is long. The very large woman next to her was unphased by the skinny chick. She rolled out her mat, gave a smile in my direction when she saw me peeking and asked “It’s hot in here isn’t it?” then laid down to center herself.

I turned my head the other way and there was a yoga nazi with her own mat, her own block and strap and her very important looking yoga outfit. She had the yoga pants that come slightly above the ankle and the spandex bra top. She was all business and was practicing her breathing. Honestly, I was a little scared of her. Behind her was the college student. He, yes, that’s right, HE had the best view in the room. Not of the instructor, but of the yoga nazi’s butt. He’s in college ya know, he’s pretty smart.

Scattered throughout the studio are a handful of older women in various degrees of ability. Some are dressed to the nines with their jewelry and sweat suits and others are in ratty tees and jogging pants. But we are all there for the same reason. To see who lets one rip. NO. To see the guy in the wrist bands. NO. To get in touch with our bodies and feel more relaxed. OK.

Years ago I was very close to becoming a yoga instructor. I was in shape and I was very good. But baby #2 happened and I lost interest in Yoga. I also lost my instructor. He didn’t die or anything, I just got lost finding his new place and took that as a sign that I should just concentrate on the baby. Going back to yoga has been hard. Physically sure, but more so emotionally. My old instructor was a dancer in his previous life so he knew exactly how to get me to do what I needed to. These new instructors don’t know me, they are not dancers they are lovely but they are purely yoga teachers. And I am dealing with the effects of fibromyalgia. I cannot move like I used to. My muscles feel like they are ripping when I do the simplest of stretches. The pain is intense and I do not know how to NOT do what I am asked to do or do it “a little less” And then when I do it full out and it still isn’t what I know it should be I get a little sad.

And then I glance over at the old guy in sweat bands who doesn’t give a flying fig what anyone else sees, he is doing his personal best and feeling good about himself. And I think I could use a little of that. I can use my anonymity to do what I can. No one in this class expects anything of me. They don’t care that I am not making pretty pictures with my body. They all seem to have a higher understanding than I do.  I look at them and I see beauty because they are exactly who they are. No pretense, no excuses.

And no one even laughs when some one farts during downward dog. No one says “you smelt it you dealt it” when one wafts by during warrior pose. These people are the essence of mature. Well, except the college kid. I saw him smirk.

Time to go get my wrist bands and fanny pack. I wonder what I’ll learn today!