Catharsis

Years ago, when blogging first came into vogue, I remember thinking, “Oh my god–why would anyone want to expose their private lives to the world like that?  It’s like letting anyone and everyone read your diary!”  And, well, yeah.  It is. The differences are 1) I’ve given everyone permission to do it, and 2) I can massage my words for five hours or five days until I’m ready to send them out into the Universe via the Internet.

I had no idea, though, how cathartic it can be.  I mean, different people blog for different reasons.  I’ve read a blog about Pacific Northwest native flora, a blog in which the author wrote of being date-raped, blogs about wine, blogs about beer, blogs about dogs.  My favorite blogger–who recently published her first book, by the way–is a brilliant artist named Allie Brosh, who writes Hyperbole and a Half.  She’s one of two authors whose writing consistently makes me laugh till I cry–or moby wine out my nose.  (Bill Bryson is the other.)  Another favorite blog is Danger Garden.  Really, what’s not to love?

There are blogs for literally every topic under the sun.  I call this “my online mat space” for a reason.  It’s Bloga.©   OMG, I totally just coined a new word.  (And yes, I totally inserted that copyright mark for a reason.)

Since I posted last night about Dude, I’ve been feeling lighter.  Clearer.  More creative.  Better, certainly, than I have the past few months.  What could cause this?

Merriam-Wesbter defines catharsis as “the act or process of releasing a strong emotion (such as pity or fear) especially by expressing it in an art form.”  Ooooh.  Oh, quite.  Please and thank you.  Could I possibly be nudging myself into my Vortex of Attraction by sharing my personal life with anyone and everyone?  Is that wrong?  It sounds wrong to me.  But how can it be wrong when it feels so good?

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Sometimes I so desperately need to express myself, but I just don’t feel like talking to anyone–not Loving Husband, not parents, not Dude, not sister-in-law, not best friends.  Bloga provides me that outlet.  Expressing myself through this blog feels like talking to Happy Dog:  I don’t necessarily need Bloga to say anything, only to listen.

Happy Dog

Bloga doesn’t judge or interrupt or offer suggestions or try to make me feel better.  I don’t mean to imply that Loving Husband, parents, Dude, sister-in-law or best friends judge or interrupt.  They do offer suggestions and try to make me feel better, which is loving and compassionate, and I appreciate it.  Sometimes.

But Bloga just is.  And sometimes that’s all I need.

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Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . .

Finding magic and meaning in the mundane

I have no job interviews scheduled today, and thus nothing better to do than drink coffee all morning and write this post.  OK, that’s not entirely true.  I really should give the front door a second coat of paint, and that ivy patch in the middle of the backyard isn’t going to rip itself out, fly into the yard waste bin and roll out to the curb.  I’ll get to it.

Today I want to delve deeper into a concept about which I posted on My True North’s Facebook page last year.  Here’s the original post:

Yesterday I had the most amazing revelation. On my way home from work–an hour and a half commute that I thankfully only make about twice a week–I was listening to an audio-only version of “A Night at the Roxbury” (a highly underrated movie, in my opinion) and suddenly realized that it’s a goldmine of brilliant metaphysical insights. Brothers Doug Butabi (Chris Kattan) and Steve Butabi (Will Ferrell) put the Law of Attraction to work without even realizing it. They just do what comes naturally. They’re in the right place at the right time, and the Universe brings them the exact circumstances they need to bring their dream to life. I was totally blown away with this realization! I’ve seen and listened to the movie many times, but the light bulb didn’t come on till just yesterday.

I think it’s a beautiful, beautiful thing when you can find messages like this in the craziest places.

Watch “A Night at the Roxbury” with this perspective in mind, and just see if I’m right!

As you can see, I really do find magic and meaning in the mundane.

Roxbury

The Universe (a.k.a., Source, Spirit, God, whatever term you’re most comfortable with) really, truly does speak to us.  I don’t believe in coincidences at all:  everything happens (or doesn’t) for a reason, just as every person with whom I come into contact does so for a reason.  The Universe is constantly trying to get me to realize that my thoughts have energy that affects my reality.  There is so much more than what I can see and hear and taste and smell, if I’d just allow myself to be open to it.

Other dimensions.  Other planes of existence.  Multiple realities.  The Law of Attraction.  Whatever you call it, it’s real–whether I believe it or not.  So I might as well believe it and try to get the most out of the time I have in the here and now.

Here’s another amazing example of the Universe speaking to me:  my maternal grandmother re-entered the non-physical exactly 40 years to the day after her mother.  My mother was present at both transitions, and she said they were even close to the same time of day.  I can’t explain that away by mere coincidence.  My Non-Physical Posse sent me this  message loud and clear at a time when I desperately needed reassurance that there was meaning and reason to everything.

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I was also present when my grandma crossed over in 2006.  I was 40 then, and it was the first time I’d ever seen anyone die.  Grandma was 98 and had been in a nursing home for several years, confined to a wheelchair, unable to speak or do anything for herself.  But whenever I visited, she understood what I said to her, she could laugh, and her grip when she held my hand was strong.  Even though she lived a full, long, life, I still wish she were with me today to continue to share in all my experiences and enjoy my stories.  I will forever be grateful for the special message she and Ur-Oma sent me.

I think to myself now that if thestrals were real, I’d be able to see them, along with Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood.  And that would be a privilege, not a curse.

A Night At the Roxbury photo courtesy Paramount Pictures & Wikipedia

The Law of Attraction at work.

If, like me, you’re a student of Abraham and the Law of Attraction, the following will make a lot of sense.

Yesterday was not a good day.  Sometimes the smallest thing sets me off.   More often it’s the combination of the smallest thing coupled with perimenopausal hormone levels.  Then, because the Law of Attraction is a real thing (like gravity) and is in effect every day all the time, most times things just deteriorate from there–unless I’m able to reroute my attitude, which doesn’t often happen.

The thing that set me off yesterday was a trip to our local Safeway for my favorite yogurt and discovering they apparently no longer carry it.

Nancy's yogurt

Let me be clear that this kind of thing inexplicably happens to me with disturbing and irritating frequency.  This leads me to believe I either have really bad taste or I belong to a very small, elite minority with such highly evolved taste that the rest of the world simply can’t keep up.

Anyway, the AWOL yogurt was another one of those Final Straws I mentioned in an earlier post.  It prompted an f*bomb-laden text to my darling husband, who is painfully aware that I don’t always respond to these types of personal challenges with my Highest and Best Self.  The text said:

You know what?  Fuck Abraham.  Sometimes I really just want to be able to hate my fucking life without the fear of attracting more shit.

Ew, right?  Right.  Enter the Law of Attraction.  Or, if you prefer, the very similar Threefold Law, as stated in the Wiccan Rede:

“Mind the threefold law ye should, three times bad and three times good.”

In other words, like attracts like.  That which is like is drawn unto itself.  As within, so without.  You get the picture.

Back to the yogurt.  I decided to try the Corvallis Safeway about 15 minutes away.  Guess what?  No Nancy’s yogurt there either.  So I went to Market of Choice, and SUCCESS!  All the Nancy’s yogurt flavors I could ever want and then some.  Hurray for me!

[Insert thoughts of rainbows, butterflies, unicorns, playful kittens.]

At this point, I should let you know that I had brought puppy along for the ride.  Remember happy dog from the other day?

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I thought you might.  She is cute, isn’t she?  Unfortunately, she also gets carsick.  But I naively thought she was over it–with good reason, as she hadn’t gotten carsick for almost a month.

Here’s where things started to get weird.

We were in the Trader Joe’s parking lot, and I was just about to go in when she barfed up copious bright pink vomit containing all manner of yard debris, including grass, plum pits (hence the bright pink hue), scilla bulbs, mulch, and a rather unhealthy amount of colorful string from the rope toy she’d been busily ripping apart for days.

“Hello, friend,” said the Universe.  “This is especially for you.  Thank you for your order.  I am happy to comply.  Please come again.”

Can you see where this is going?

Poor sad puppy.  Poor grossed-out me.  I cleaned up her travel crate as best I could, and we headed straight home.  I then found myself following a garbage truck for the next 15 minutes.

“Hello again, friend,” said the Universe.  “Aren’t I doing a good job giving you exactly what you asked for?  Enjoy your drive home.”

When I got home, I realized I’d forgotten about leaving one of our two cats out on the patio in the kitty cabaña.

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She, of course, had barfed up a large hairball and was meowing at the top of her lungs to be freed from the vomitorium.

“Hello, friend,” said the Universe once again.  “Have you had enough?  I can keep this up all day, if you like.”

I’ll wrap this up.  I apologized to the pets for being the worst mom ever, fed them dinner, cleaned up the car and the patio, threw a load of vomit-splattered towels, blanket and crate pad in the laundry, and thanked the Universe for being so responsive.

Husband came home from work shortly thereafter to find me tear-streaked and sprawled on the couch in front of the stereo listening to Rush loud enough to shake the entire house in a manner akin to the classic Maxell audio tapes commercial, drinking wine straight from the bottle.

“Mind the threefold law ye should, three times bad and three times good.”

Indeed.