Living on Purpose

A relatively lazy day and Father's Day found me with free time - after household chores, thoughts on expanding my business, application for a car loan, and a short drive through my picturesque town with my youngest daughter.  I decided to watch a DVD I stumbled across at the library a couple of days ago,  "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly."

This is an autobiographical account of how utterly dramatically, drastically, and with lightning-quick speed life can change within the parameters of moments.  Jean-Dominique Bauby pushed that velocity envelope at the age of 44 when, as a well liked and valued editor of the high profile "Elle" magazine, he succumbed in life's mid-stride to a rare stroke attacking his brain stem.  Awakening from the  20-day coma to a body completely paralyzed except for his mind and the ocular movement of his left eye, he strained with undaunted effort and spirit to keep alive his wit, style, and impassioned approach to the distinctive quality of his soul.  He continued his grand adventures of this lifetime through his kaleidoscope spectrum of personal imagination and produced the manuscript by using a system of blinking to each letter of the alphabet read to him.

By connecting exquisitely with the vast array of sensations within his memory, he linked not only to himself but to the world around him.  He thrilled to life fully expressed, his children, love, and the passionate embracing of choice and opportunity.  The tale is poignant, bitter sweet, and ineffably overpowering as a testament of conviction for living-on-purpose.

My own minor - by comparison - turmoil in the aftermath of time with a narcissist/psychopath and his dysfunctional clan  left me metaphorically comatose and stuck in a murky purgatory of static existence.  Dragging my battered heart, beliefs, and antiquated carcass into a wake-up mode has been an excruciating process of reconnecting to this life.  Where once I held impassioned views on interactions, my self-protected cessation of hope and expectation crippled my grip on forging my own role in this experience of metabolic vitality.

Tony Robbins likes to say that man will act more diligently and exert more effort to avoid pain than he will to consciously magnetize pleasure.  I find that I personally can agree with this, especially when the anguish comes expressly through the torment of the soul.  When beliefs and one's stability of data on individual purpose are shaken to the core, life takes on a mechanical rhythm - much like the life-support for Bauby.  The continuum of subsistence shrinks to a very narrow band width and with it, the capabilities of a blossoming presence falter and lay stunned.

After the trigger of a cascade of ideas found in the movie, I wondered "what kept me moving, always with optimism in my past" - before the violation of my spirit?  What had left me as a lump of clay?  Was it because I accepted the thought that it was "my choice"?  I believe I chose to see goodness...I chose to be upbeat in expectation.  Now I choose to limit my exposure to self-doubt and anger. Unpleasant, detrimental, and even life-altering deviations from one's path do occur.  BUT...

At some point, we can see and feel that each of us are "worthy" of other adventures...higher tone journeys.  Those which produce expanded and uplifting proficiency.  I also watched "Alien Hunter" this weekend and was moved by the characters portraying wounded people who, for the most part, rose to the occasion of greatness in decency.  There, of course, was a renegade being who catapulted wildly in fear and the attempt to escape a doomsday scenario.  But on the whole, the staff of the locked-down research facility, who had unwittingly opened a plague that could wipe humanity from the Earth, were honorable and aware of a mandatory sacrifice.  In the final scenes, the remaining few were "rescued" by other-worldly presences and we are left hoping that their new trek will be exciting, challenging, and filled with the joy of their uncharted next adventure.

In both of these movies a fear of the unknown reigns.  However, overcoming that emotion, valiantly rides honor and the choice to make a positive difference.  This may well be our purpose.  It isn't what we do so much as the spirit of integrity that accompanies our actions.  Claude Bristol's The Magic of Believing is true.  So, for me, I will pretend that I am following my purpose of being until I recognize that this is, indeed, the case.  As Bristol states, "to win, you've got to stay in the game."

Adventure, relationships, ideals, and seeking the best - re-post corrupted blog

This life is amazingly complicated and quite unabashedly grand in it's multi-faceted terrains of experience.  Just as I was beginning to see some light at the end of the tunnel I had forged for myself - letting the ex-spouse narcissist/psychopath and his clan forever exhibiting their black hole of never-ending needs sap my entire portfolio of financial assets - my old car died.  My niche of office cleaning with a leaning toward special attention to equipment in a variety of office fields, is just beginning to offer a glimmer of growth.

Looking at life in my "later chapters," I felt weary.  The trek through the bowels of the Twilight Zone in my last marriage in which I was used, devalued, and so easily discarded once my funds and usefulness as a hired hand and care provider had evaporated, had deposited me within the grasp of a crisis of faith.  I have been groping my way forward and this deletion of a vehicle from my present-day grab bag of dealings rumbled the reminder of those devastatingly fearful feelings of violation of trust.  Now, I faced my own thoughts of being alone in this predicament.  My youngest daughter and her fiance loaned me their truck, having the fiance use his motorcycle to generously share their second automobile with me. And my oldest daughter compiled her Christmas money to be on-the-ready to aid me. I still have the legwork to perform, but there is an air of generosity and warmth.  God and the Universe still know I'm here.

The calendar has marked two years away from the constantly overwhelming chaos of changing persona of the psychopath, the tag-team neediness of the invalid mother, ailing father, always present first wife, alcoholic adult son, first wife's drugged-out and alcoholic sister forever sexually in competition with her sibling, aunts who attempted to push me into becoming a live-in care provider for the mother...and the starkly conflicting upbeat expectations I held when entering the marriage.  Forging ahead, I find my courage in strange places, and a collage of ever expansive optimistic expectation of living in the time spent with my delightfully individualistic grandsons.


What does this living in the Now for me look like?  My 7 year old grandson wanted to go on the Y's indoor contortionist death slide into the pool while his younger brother (too young to ride the water slide) waited below...but he wanted me to go with him.  If anyone else other than grandchildren had asked me to take the trek, I might easily have declined.  Once at the top of the stairs, he asked me to go first...so I with my round and aged body grabbed the bar, stepped to the edge of the multiple switch-backed slide and just as I was going to let go gracefully - WHOOOOSH!  Slick as greased lightning...I went from a sitting position to a flat on my back luge-run reminiscent of an experience with baby oil in the shower.  I think I broke "Mach 1" within two meters of the bottom...and I can only imagine the sheer and stark terror on my face as I slam-dunked into the 4 feet of water at the bottom.  I was never so glad to see the splashing water lapping the edge of the bottom area of the slide.  I didn't black out from G-force, but neither did I breathe.  My grandson went another 16 times with me waiting to catch him in the water...moving farther from the end to let him savor his run each time.   Balancing the thrills, my youngest grandson explored the deep end of the poor with his snorkel, jumping to me from the rim to add some zest.  At my point in life now, THIS is my "living in the moment" with two amazing grandsons that think ol' grandma is pretty spiffy in her reliability as they taste life.

Renewal of heart and spirit can also be exemplified by the movie, "Galaxy Quest," a favorite of mine.  It's a spoof of the terrific series, "Star Trek," and the behind-the-scenes' drama with the personalities of the actors, all seeking to find a specialized arena of success, some acclaim, and personal expression and fulfillment.  It's very much a reflection of life and coming to validate the idea that we are not alone and disconnected.  We find ourselves in high and lower level drama, emotional turmoils and joyful exuberance, favorable outcomes in specific endeavors, and for me, a coherence of continuity in the flows of energy in this duration of human consciousness.  As the actors playing the crew of the Galaxy Quest bash each other over ego and the praise of fans, they also rally to "fight the good fight" and in doing so become astutely aware of the unique attributes of each of them as valuable individuals.  The story is one of marvelous redemption of the egotistical lead actor portraying Captain Jason Nesmith, and the powerful camaraderie that ripples from the causal and dynamic change in awakening to more than self.

So, I find myself here, too.  Letting go of old hurts and fears.  Rushing down the water slide with heart racing and partaking of the fabulous successes of my grandsons...now and tomorrow and all the tiers above and below.  As Jason Nesmith says, "<with> this fine ship and this fine crew...never give up...and never surrender."

Some days the bug, some days the windshield...

Listening to Anna Quindlen on a TV book review program this morning, I found her candid and openly expressed thoughts on this life, purpose, joy, relationships, and always the love of writing to touch a chord of comfortable camaraderie within me.  It drove an awareness home.  Style, speech, the written word, and character seem part and parcel of the very aura of personal expression.  Quindlen mentioned that writers inevitably want to share something of the life force of experience so that another will not be so alone.  What an amazingly appropriate sentiment with such an uplifting air of decency.

Facebook proved a doorway to sharing my upheaval when I found myself deep in the stark abyss of confusion in the aftermath of a narcissist/psychopath and extended family.  Much of the hopeful expectation that returned to me came on the heels of voicing descriptions of my encounter with these vapid sycophants - doing so on open forums proved a test of faith in my own strength of determination and served to validate this excursion as mine. Tumultuous difficulties introduced me to myself once again, but it was the acceptance of making these choices on my own that offered a proprietary air to the mix.  In using the social medium to frankly expose sectors of my life in an undisguised method without subterfuge, I had the opportunity to face fear on several levels.  Beyond what others thought of me, I discovered that I chose the tone of my writings - how to respond to less than supportive rebuttals on my contributed selections  and to accept agreement with a humble touch.  

In the course of my treks into an individualized choreography of this flowing existence, I have begun to seek my purpose once more.  There are those who posture and present personas as they struggle to comprehend the inscrutable fallout from picking a door on this unusual game show of life.  The upset may settle in the fastidious hope while turning the knob  and then soon recognizing that the entryway held specters and goblins. 

I find that I robustly desire to nurture a resonating spirit of being worthy.  I choose to be a better becoming self.  That doesn't mean that the "keys to the Kingdom" fall gently into my waiting hands.  Working in self-employment has brought me onto the shore of those who tend to take advantage.  It's not always under the umbrella of conscious knowledge for those who desire to wring that last inch from a generous offer.  How much responsibility sits on our shoulders?  I am not the same person I once was before time with that clan of ever-draining black hole of needs.   Responding with "no" can be processed with a bit of kindness and even class.

And that quality of integrity is my goal for myself.  William Foster reflects quite aptly on this, "Quality is never an accident; it is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, intelligent direction and skillful execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives."  This relationship with self is a remarkable entity in its own right.  Although we are each more than the accumulation of our assets, traits of character, and choices, this crucible of living pushes us to desire a sounder mix along with more than a whisper of intuitive link to the ether beyond ourselves.  

What I am finding to be true is the incorporation of energies from others in our sphere shades the functionality of the crucible.  To be valuable, the vessel must be melt-proof and the high temperature chemical reactions of difficult trials within the container cannot alter the core structure.  There is not a point of no-return for the spirit of us.  However, choice of direction will occur from a self-determined platform or by default.  I choose sovereignty over my own lines in this high adventure dramatic work.

I think we are all children in this quest for expression of beingness.  Erma Bombeck sums life so very well: "All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage.  Taking children into a house with a white carpet is one of them."