Difficult to be Original

Thank you, Monica Hadsall, for this seed sentence:

“I find it difficult to be consistently original.”

This sentence is a perfect example. It took me five tries to choose the word “consistently”. “Always” is plain vanilla. “Regularly” is boring. “Continually”? Nah. Maybe “neverendingly”. That won’t work – sounds too much like a story with a wise and furry white dragon. “Consistently”. Now there’s a nice, solid, pleasant-sounding word. It’s sort of, well, perfectly suited for the job. Truthfully, I’d prefer “all-embracing” but that’s not so understandable and the editor might not like it.

brick-wall-original brick (4)We’re born to be original, but that’s difficult from the day we arrive. Original is what we pop out intending to be. “I’ll be the one and only me!” We are ready to dance, sing, laugh, and embrace life! It’s gonna be grand this time around! We’ll live up to our intentions. Be what we came to be. Do what we came to do. Learn what we came to learn. Help the world with all our talents and abilities. Venture out into fresh, unformed territory with daring new ways of being and then invite others to join us. Wow!

And then that happens. Rules. Regulations. Appropriateness. Suitability. Other people’s opinions. That which is tolerated, and that which is not.

Come on, people! I’m not purposefully setting out to rattle your cages. But, hey, you are in cages. You’ve taken in everyone else’s beliefs, opinions, and insistifications, and are using their demands to build your own cage. (I made up “insistifications” because it says what I want to say and at least in this one sentence, I’m going to be original!)

You built the cage, so it’s your job to dismantle it. But those limitations aren’t iron bars like you imagine. They’re just lots of little sticks bundled together. With one original action at a time, you can disassemble them.

Did you ever play that game “Pick-Up-Sticks”? Where you dump out a bundle of colorful sticks onto the floor and then carefully pick up one at a time off the pile, trying to not move any of the other sticks? That’s one hard game to play. When you move one stick, the other sticks lose their balance and move too. That’s what happens when you start to be original in life. You move a stick. Everything shifts around that and it dismantles your cage. People who were comfortable because you fit the norms become uncomfortable because now you don’t. Now your norm is to be original. To fit in with you, they will have to be original too. If they aren’t ready to move their cage’s sticks, they eventually move off to play an easier game with normal people. All those people who used to irritate you and hold you back with their incessant complaining and bitching dissolve from your life. Wonderful! But…

Here’s where it gets confusing. When they leave, you feel bad. Guilty. Unsure. They aren’t pleased with you anymore. You blew it, and now you’re alone.

Being alone with your magnificent originality is sometimes really close to being liberated.

men-colorful socks w suits, pexel (3)Hang in there. Because something magical is going to happen. One or two of those friends are going to see you dismantle your cage and they will say to themselves, “If she does it, maybe I can, too”. So they try it. They do something original, too, and feel empowered. Now you started something. And strangers who’ve been struggling out there all alone, trying to be authentic, notice the new game your group is playing, and they say, “Hey! If you do it, I can too.”

Now the magic really begins to flow.

You started a movement. A “Be Weird” movement, because you want to celebrate originality. You push out the boundaries, spread your wings to fly, and suddenly other people want to be joyful like you. So they ask you, “Whatsup?”

And you say, “Absolutely nothing.”

Then they ask, “How do we do that?”

And you say, “No rules. Just be yourself.”

That’s scary, because most people haven’t practiced that. So they say, “Give me some guidelines.”

And you laugh, saying, “No guidelines; just the truth. Be the one and only you! Ready to dance, sing, laugh, and embrace life! It’s gonna be grand this time around! You’ll live up to your intentions. Be what you came to be. Do what you came to do. Learn what you came to learn. Help the world with all your talents and abilities. Venture out into fresh, unformed territory with daring new ways of being and then invite others to join you.”

And then you have them write down these words to carry with them:

“Being alone with your magnificent originality is sometimes really close to being liberated.”

 Ellie Hadsall, May 9, 2018


From the author: “This story is part of my “Random Sentences; Random Stories” series. Individuals have contributed random sentences from which I write a short story. I never know what the sentence will evoke until I begin writing. The results are greatly varied and take me on adventures of insight. I hope you enjoy them!”


Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.


Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review: … “This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest…” more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.

 

 

 

 

 

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Footsteps

Thank you, Jamie Clark, for this seed sentence!

“As she listened to the clickety-clack of footsteps coming up the stairs outside, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, rested her face in her palm, and sighed.”

And so the story begins …

As she listened to the clickety-clack of footsteps coming up the stairs outside, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, rested her face in her palm, and sighed.

“One more day, Serrina. You can do this. Take a deep breath and perform.”

The quiet knock encouraged her to reach for her cane, push up from the faded chair and shuffle to the door, struggling to turn the great brass knob.

“Miss Serrina! I brought you yellow roses!” A slender girl slipped in, heading for the kitchen as she clattered by in glittery, silver high-heeled shoes far too big for her little feet.  “A bee found the roses already! How do bees know where to find flowers? Sometimes I follow them just to see what they’re gonna find! I got a rose poke in my finger, though.”

Incessant chatter. But these days this bundle of energy was the only light in Serrina’s world.

“Can I put them in the flowery teapot? Pleeeze! They’ll feel at home with the pretty painted roses. There’s yellow ones on it that look ‘zactly like these!”

“I know, dear. Okay. Can you reach it?”

“Course! I’m the one who put it up there last time.” The girl carefully opened the glass door of the tall china cabinet, pulled a chair over and climbed up to reach the fourth shelf. Reaching in, she gently pulled out the delicate Dresden china teapot and handed it to Serrina. “I’m gonna leave the lid up here so we don’t lose it.”

So. Put the roses in the teapot. Set it on the broad windowsill behind the window seat in the breakfast room. Smell summertime for a few more days. Serrina promised to herself, as she always did, to live until Maribelle’s bouquet died. Fortunately for both of them, Maribelle picked fresh flowers for her often.

girl dressed up fancy“Can I take the big red hat with pink feathers today Serrina?” Maribelle gazed down at her fancy shoes, hesitating. “Maybe sometime I can take along the shoes and a hat too? Or your white feathery shawl? I’d be real careful.”

Reseated in her worn gold damask chair, Serrina considered. Why not? Why was she limiting the girl’s joy? Lord knows, this girl needed all she could get. In a life wrapped in poverty, Maribelle still managed to glean out hope and promise.

“Go upstairs and get five things to take this time. I want to see them on you when you glide down the stairs, okay? Now scoot!”

Maribelle’s fancy shoes carried her up the broad winding staircase, this time more quietly as they trod on the faded woven carpet. Considering, Serrina added, “Go to the third floor rehearsal room and get the ballet slippers in the mirrored closet. You can keep them to wear around home but promise to not wear them outside!”

“Okay!”

This would take a while. That girl would snoop. Serrina figured that by now Maribelle had been in every room on the two upstairs floors. She could hear doors quietly open and close. That was okay. The girl was curious and she never took anything. Just looked and dreamed.

Serrina understood dreaming. Her dreams had led her across the world. First to the New York City Ballet, followed by her first vaudeville shows. Then she saw Anna Pavlova dance and was transformed into yet another dream. Determinedly, she saved money to travel to Paris where ballet was a respected art. Performing as “Serrina the Sublime”, brazenly performing a self-styled ballet in the Montparnasse art district of Paris, she had created a sensation and was launched into fame. ballet-shoes-2326987__480Existence became a whirlwind of performing, interviews, meeting the public’s demands, and a chain of torrid love affairs, all while nursing constant physical pain of her legs and feet being pushed beyond their capacity. She was smart though, setting money aside and investing in copper mines. Princes and playboys wooed her with priceless jewelry which she wore only long enough to please them and then secreted away for security.

Then Phillip came into her life. Twenty years older, he had managed life around her, softened sharp edges of publicity, tolerated her mood swings, and when she finally realized his value, she found him one morning in their upstairs master suite, his heart given out. She closed up those rooms, moved into another suite down the hall, and carried on.

She had longed to retire then but pushed on for two more years. Performing was what she did. It’s who she was. But a day came when, after completing an hour of grueling torment in her upstairs rehearsal room, trying to convince herself into one more hour of practice, she glimpsed herself in the wall of mirrors. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. She didn’t want that woman in her life anymore; she wanted herself back. Sliding down onto the wooden floor, she had gently unwrapped the gauze wrappings encasing her bleeding feet. Softly patting the feet that had won her acclaim, that had created this grand life, that had carried her across the globe, she decided this was no longer living. This was torture. She put the slippers away and exited that room, too.

She hadn’t known how lonely it would be when fame no longer came to visit. It was as if a faucet had turned off, leaving her in a desperate thirst. Invitations dried up and phone calls dwindled. She had known fame was fleeting but hadn’t realized it could disappear altogether.

Years and days passed. Corey brought her groceries when she could no longer drive. Her only companion was Tukket, the Maine Coon cat who had shown up on her windowsill one rainy day. She invited him in and considered perhaps God had sent him. They discussed the weather, he occasionally brought her a gift mouse, attacked the golden tassel on the drapery swags, and she regaled him with stories of her travels. Tukket was satisfied to live a spoiled life indoors until the day he unexpectedly scampered out the kitchen door when Corey delivered a basket of fresh peaches.  Serrina fretted for two days as loneliness seeped back into her life.

Then someone rang her doorbell.

“This your cat, Miss Serrina?” A little slip of a girl stood holding Tukket who looked immensely smug and pleased with himself.

“Oh, my! Yes! Tukket, where have you been off to?”  Tukket struggled to escape the girl’s arms and ran into the house, leaping up onto his favorite green velvet armchair.

“Thank you, my dear. And you are…?”

“Maribelle. We live over by the river. I found your cat sitting under Momma’s okra plants in the shade. I’ve seen him in your window so knew you wanted him back.”

“How sweet of you to bring Tukket home. Would you like a cookie?”

“Yes! I always like cookies. Anything sweet. Momma says ‘much as I like sweets, I’m gonna’ grow up to be a sugar bowl.”

Serrina laughed in delight, and then started in surprise. She hadn’t known she had laughter in her anymore. She didn’t want to stop.

“Come on in, then. Let’s go to the kitchen and have a cookie.” Excited with a visitor, Serrina blurted out, “Want to have some tea, too?”

“I’ve never had tea. Is it good?”

Serrina grinned. “I suppose it is if you add enough sugar. Ever seen a sugar cube?”

“What’s that?”

So a friendship began. One shared life experience led to another. First it was how the Mayor of Dresden bestowed the tea set upon her as an honorary resident. Then stories of having tea with a Maharaj in India. This led to them traipsing upstairs to see the pink and yellow silk sari which hung above pearl-studded satin shoes. It wasn’t long before Maribelle was trying everything on and parading around as Serrina clapped.

Over the following months, Maribelle’s visits were regular as clockwork. Much to the girl’s delight, Serrina insisted she take at least one item home at the end of each visit, knowing the girl would need to return it and she would get to see her again. Maribelle’s mother came over occasionally to chat and for the first time in months, Serrina felt as a real hostess again. From Maribelle’s stories, she knew the family struggled, so she always insisted she had extra plums, or cake, or ham that she couldn’t eat fast enough and would they please take some home.

The day came when Serrina couldn’t force her shaky legs up the sweeping stairway anymore, so Corey and Mirabelle’s brother Reece carried her bed down to the smoking-room on the first floor. That is the last time Serrina went upstairs. Now, it was up to Maribelle to fetch what she needed, laugh at her stories, bring vitality into her home, and to care. Most of all, to care.

Maribelle pranced downstairs carrying the hem of a long lavender gown, with a gold velvet cloche hat, black patent strap heels, and draped in a white feather boa.

“Dahling Serrina. Would you be a dear and order the car around? I can’t be late to the ball again or the Prince will marry another, and I shall be ruined!”

“Forget the Prince. Marry a lumberjack and let him build you a treehouse.”

“But whatever shall I wear in a treehouse?”

“Maybe nothing at all if he builds it deep in the woods.”

Laughing, they collapsed onto the sofa, slowly chuckling down into matched sighs.

“Go ahead and wear these clothes home, Mirabelle. They aren’t doing any good stuck in a closet. Take them out into the world and give them life again.”

“Miss Serrina! I love you!” The little girl threw her arms around Serrina, kissing her soundly on the soft parchment of her cheek. “Tomorrow I’ll bring them back. And I’ll bring you blue Larkspur this time. You can stick it in with the roses!”

As Serrina listened to the clickety-clack of footsteps going down the stairs outside, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, rested her face in her palm, and sighed. Life was nearing its end, but it was still good.

Phillip visited her that night. Not quite the Phillip she remembered, but an eager, younger version. Begging her to come with him, he held out his hand. Serrina considered. Oh, how she longed to join him and to leave her weary body behind. But Mirabelle would be coming tomorrow with Larkspur and she mustn’t disappoint. Phillip listened to her calmly, as he always had, and then assured her Mirabelle would understand. So Serrina the Sublime, the prima donna of ballet, thanked her dancing feet, her newfound friend, and reached for Phillip’s hand.

When Mirabelle’s eager feet clattered up the stone stairs the next afternoon, no one was home to take the flowers from her little hands. Four days later, Momma pushed her way to the front of the hordes of visitors to hold Mirabelle up so she could lay a fresh handful of Larkspur on top of the gleaming mahogany casket.

The next day a man knocked at their door, carrying Tukket and a briefcase. After a brief discussion on the porch, Momma invited him in to sit at the kitchen table.

“Do you want Tukket, Mirabelle?” Mama asked. “He can live with us now.”

Mirabelle picked up the cat and burrowed her face in Tukket’s fur. It smelled like Miss Serrina’s house. She carried him to the window where they could both look out at the birds chirping in the azalea bushes. Then she heard Momma exclaim, “My Lord, my Lord! Oh, the blessing! For Mirabelle? Everything? All of it? Oh, my Lord, my Lord!”

She didn’t know why Momma was so excited. Maybe the man had brought them Tukket’s china food dish and favorite green chair. Maribelle held Tukket close as they watched a bird fly up into the pale blue sky. She was sure it was soaring up to let Miss Serrina know that Tukket was okay. Miss Serrina would want to know.

 – Ellie Hadsall, May 9, 2018


From the author: “This story is part of my “Random Sentences; Random Stories” series. Individuals have contributed random sentences from which I write a short story. I never know what the sentence will evoke until I begin writing. The results are greatly varied and take me on adventures of insight. I hope you enjoy them!”


Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.


Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review: … “This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest…” more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.

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I Foremost Believe in Myself

Thank you, Dennis Giersch, for this seed sentence:

I am, as I foremost believe in myself!

And so the story begins…

A man stepped forward from the crowd and approached. Someone you wouldn’t notice particularly until you saw his eyes. They shone with a known truth, a mystery solved, a clarity resolved, an insight illuminated. What was I to do but to acknowledge his presence?

“What can I do for you? Who are you?” I asked.

And he replied, “I am, as I foremost believe in myself!

“I am. Isn’t that a miracle? I am…me. Not you, them, society, rules, a puppet, a follower, an actor trying hard to remember memorized lines in the role of being human.

“I am. The precise reason I was born is to be me. Everything came together to create me. My personality, hair, color of eyes, likes and dislikes, failures and successes, favorites and fears, my interests and the stuff that bores me senseless – all of these are who I am.

“The challenge of life has been to figure out who this ‘I’ is.

Doors, Be Yourself“When someone asks me to ‘be more like other people’, a warning bell goes off in my head. What’s that mean? Who are these other people that I should be like? Is it the perfectionist who lives in fear of being misunderstood? A relative who complains about everything? The man who eats junk food and drinks a six-pack a day and then gripes about his doctor because his doctor gripes about him? A sports star who turns her back on a normal life to work out sixteen hours a day? The man who doesn’t hold down a regular job but somehow finds the time and means to travel the world? A child born into abject poverty who successfully survives until disease or drugs destroy her body? Someone who is born, lives, and dies an uneventful life yet whose last thoughts are ‘this was a life well lived’?

I am, bird in sunrays“I come to tell you a secret. Each of these – these independent souls who forge their own path – each seeks their own I am. They believe in the right to live life their own way regardless of whether it is judged right or wrong in the eyes of the world. So, when someone says to me ‘be more like other people’, what they are really saying to me is ‘be more like you’.

“I realize that few of those who speak those words to me will agree with my interpretation. But that’s okay. I am, so I interpret it as I choose. I am, as I foremost believe in myself.”

“One more thing,” he added, “Such a thought necessarily leads to this: You are, as you foremost believe in yourself.”

And then I replied, “I’ll go have fun with that.”

 – Ellie Hadsall, April 23, 2018


From the author: “This story is part of my “Random Sentences; Random Stories” series. Individuals have contributed random sentences from which I write a short story. I never know what the sentence will evoke until I begin writing. The results are greatly varied and take me on adventures of insight. I hope you enjoy them!”


Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.


Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review: … “This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest…” more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Freeing a Tethered Soul

Thanks, Stacey Patalita, for this seed sentence!

“Some days I feel good in my skin and other days my soul feels tethered.”

 And so the story begins…

Some days I feel good in my skin and other days my soul feels tethered. I’d like to think that my bio-suit’s skin is tailored just for me. My perfect texture. Temperature. Elasticity. Holding me all together. Overall, most days it does its job fine.

Then there’s other days when my soul wants –needs– to fly. On those days, my skin is a prison. It chafes, strangles and hides my heart. Oh, believe me, I’ve talked with the Designer of Universes about this very subject. She just laughs at me and says, “But, dear, you begged for this bio-suit!”

“Really? What was I thinking?”

She simply hugs me and tells me I’m doing fine and to do more yoga.

woman with wings, angel“But why don’t we at least have wings? We could have these bodies and beautiful feathery wings, too!”

“You’d keep flying off, escaping your troubles, fleeing from the insights and messages those troubles are designed to give you. Something has to tether you down so you will sit still long enough to get the messages.”

I assure her that her system isn’t working very well for me.

She shakes her head and chuckles. “You created the master plan yourself, you know, so don’t blame me. You have soul-freedom. You can create and then have the fun of enjoying your creation.”

“Some of my creations don’t work out so well.”

“There, you see? Those are the lesson-gifts you ordered for yourself.“

I tell her I need a better catalogue to order from and she dances around my thoughts like a Will-o-Wisp, singing songs of courage. Some help she is. This doesn’t soften my skin on bad days.

Oh, my skin feels good enough on a sunny day of seventy-two degrees, light breeze from the south, with a robin singing outside my window, perched on a pear tree branch sporting fragrant white blossoms, while my lover holds my hand as we dangle our feet on the side of the bed, reminiscing nostalgically about our first week together. On those days, my skin is as velvet, holding my life’s promise together in graceful form.

But. On. The. Day. That. My lover escapes my grasp to venture off on a new path, leaving me standing at the door, watching his skin-encased presence dissolve into the distance, I suspect he may have found a secret to life that eludes me. On such days my skin grows taut. Pale. Dry. It no longer embraces my soul’s essence but holds it prisoner, tied down to this physical existence.

woman-happiness-sunrise-silhouette-40192Those are days I yearn to take flight. Just for a little while. To remember how it feels to be liberated. Not to flee, but to dart through life tasting, sampling, and venturing onward without being leashed to the emotions that grab and hold me earthbound.

And so I tell the Designer of the Universes, once more, that some days I feel good in my skin and other days my soul feels tethered.

She holds me close and murmurs in my ear. “You care. You seek. You love. Share these gifts with others to loosen their tethers. In doing so, you loosen your own. Then when you least expect it, a moment will come when you leap into the sky to catch a ray of light, and you will soar.”

 – Ellie Hadsall, April 23, 2018


From the author: “This story is part of my “Random Sentences; Random Stories” series. Individuals have contributed random sentences from which I write a short story. I never know what the sentence will evoke until I begin writing. The results are greatly varied and take me on adventures of insight. I hope you enjoy them!”


Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.


Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review: … “This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest…” more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.

 

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Sivakami Fulfills a Life

Thanks, Margaret L Evans Sivakami, for this seed sentence!

“Śivakāmi is mesmerized by the continuous raindrops falling steadily from the sky like a screensaver.”

 And so the story begins…

Sivakami dances through life. Born as Barbara Ann Morgan, a common enough name, early on she determined herself to be not that common at all. But something much more. Deep inside, she knew that everybody was much more. So she set out to find a name worthy of her possibilities and potential.

Moon Goddess. She tried that for a while, but it sounded more like a title than a name, so she cast it aside.

Corn Maiden. That was better but sounded like something pure and untouchable, and she intended her life to be zestful and full of juice. So she cast that one aside, too.

Freya. As the goddess of fertility and beauty, this name held promise but hinted at a bit too much of a party girl.

shiva-2773514_1280.jpg

Shiva, male diety representing three aspects of existence: Creation, Sustaining, and Dissolution.

Then she saw Shiva dance. Well, not really. Just the graceful sculpture of a beautiful, lithe woman encircled by a ring of fire, and then was surprised to learn Shiva was not a woman at all, but a powerful male deity. And his beloved was Sivakami. And so she picked up the mantle of Sivakami and took it upon herself to bring that power into her life.  Shiva, the cosmic ecstatic dancer, twirled across the universe, depositing his three gifts of creation, preservation, and destruction. She now dances alongside him, planting her seeds, nurturing them, and allowing for the harvest and dissolution of her creations when life has fulfilled her purpose.

Life tapestry, weave with love

Sivakami designs, maintains, and releases her life.

Sivakami has created herself. She observes, decides who to be and then creates that woman. That which she creates, she cares for diligently and lovingly, giving it the best that she can and forgiving herself when she isn’t perfect. She encourages those around her to likewise create and flourish, and so life expands outward from her in glorious ripples.

She knows that one day, her lover Shiva will come to destroy what she has wrought. With divine love, he will disassemble all her creations, because on that day she will no longer need them. Her work will be done. Her harvest will be plucked from her vine and the vine will wither and die, leaving behind small fruits that are planted into other people’s lives. And they, too can be Sivakami if that is their chosen fate. Or Moon Goddess, Corn Maiden, or Freya. Or any one of the infinite number of possibilities. Liberation invites each to find her own creation.

Sivakami arises from her computer where she has been writing and moves to stand at the window. It’s springtime and the clouds above have filled with love and it is spilling over to fill the sky.

Śivakāmi is mesmerized by the continuous raindrops falling steadily from the sky like a screensaver….

– Ellie Hadsall, April 12, 2018

From the author: “This story is part of my “Random Sentences; Random Stories” series. Individuals have contributed random sentences from which I write a short story. I never know what the sentence will evoke until I begin writing. The results are greatly varied and take me on adventures of insight. I hope you enjoy them!”


Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.


Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review: … “This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest…” more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.

Posted in Articles, Books, Random Sentence Stories, Short Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Chipmunk Comes Calling

Thanks, Monica Hadsall, for this seed sentence! April 11, 2018

 “When he answered the doorbell, there was only a chipmunk sitting on the front step, looking up at him.”

When he answered the doorbell, there was only a chipmunk sitting on the front step, looking up at him.

“Sup?”chipmunk-2192456_1280

“Excuse me?

“Sup?”

“Are you asking me something?”

“See anyone else around?”

“Uh, no. But then again, I’m not sure this is real. I’ve never talked with a chipmunk before. Didn’t know you could.”

“Could what?”

“Talk.”

“Yeahwecan.”

“Excuse me?”

“Goin’ somewhere?”

“No! I came to the door because the doorbell rang!”

“You keep excusing yourself. Where ya goin’?”

“Look, it’s one thing to meet a talking chipmunk. Its quite another to meet one with a smart mouth like you’ve got.”

“You people like to think we’re all the same. Do you think we’re all adorably cute? Or dumb and irritating like Alvin and his gang?”

‘I certainly hope not. You’re not like them, are you?”

“Gnaw.”

“Excuse me?”

“There ya go again. Gnaw…like in “Nah”. It’s a joke, man!”

“I get it. Corny!”

“Well, corn would be okay, but we were kinda hoping for hazelnuts.”

“Kind of picky for a yard scavenger, aren’t you? Why hazelnuts?”

“Latest thing. Hazelnut coffee.”hazelnuts-brown-nuts-open-68483.jpeg

“But chipmunks don’t drink coffee.”

“Yeahwecan.”

“There’s that word again. Whatsitmean?”

“Huh?”

“Whatsitmean?”

“Yeahwecan?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, man, no wonder you guys fight each other all the time. You’re very confusing. Can we get back to talking about hazelnuts?”restaurant-beans-coffee-cup.jpg

“Okay. What’s this about coffee?”

“You throw out those coffee grounds onto your garden, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we smell that fresh coffee perking, and the missus gets all excited. Pretty soon you come out and toss them over the garden. Next time a good rain comes along, it soaks some of that coffee down into our burrow, and we got coffee dripping from the ceiling. It’s okay – don’t panic. We like it, but just want hazelnuts to eat with the coffee. That too much to ask?”

“Maybe. Okay what the heck. Wait right here.”

On the way to the kitchen for hazelnuts, the man stepped into the bathroom to look in the mirror to be sure he still existed. Yep. So he gathered a handful of nuts and returned to the door. If the chipmunk was still there, he’d give it the nuts. If it wasn’t there, he’d make a good strong pot of coffee, drink it all, and get back into bed so he could wake up a second time and start the day again.

The chipmunk was still there.

“Hey, thanks, man.” He stuffed four of the nuts into his cheeks and rolled the rest toward the garden where his burrow awaited.

“Wunmrfing…”

“Excuse me?”

“Wunmrfing!” Pfffftttt! He spit out the nuts on the ground and frowned up at the man. “I SAID, one more thing!”

“What do you want now?”red-onions-vegetables-vegetable-onion-onion-market-47051.jpeg

“Can you plant some more tulips in the garden? Along the back fence?”

“But it’s June! I don’t plant tulips in the hot summer. I plant them in the fall when it cools down.”

“Aw, come on! It’s my birthday next week and tender tulip bulbs are my favorite!”

“So you’re the one whose been eating them! I’ll make you a deal. I’ll plant three now for your birthday if you’ll forgoe eating them in the fall. Deal?”

He tapped his paws together. “I’ll only eat half of the tulip bulbs this fall if you’ll put out some hazelnuts under the log by the back fence now and again. That’s the old log under the fir tree where the hawks can’t get us.”

“And you’ll run along by the fence when our granddaughter comes over so she can squeal with delight?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I guess. I hate being cute but it’s part of my gig.”

chipmunk-2530068_1280 (2)Picking up the four hazelnuts, he tossed them toward the garden, waved, and scampered off muttering to himself, “Geez but I hate having to entertain for snacks.”

The man closed the door and decided he needed that big pot of strong coffee after all. He poured a big cup and sat down to consider. Was he going mad or had he really conversed with a chipmunk?

The doorbell rang. Damn rodent probably wanted the fresh coffee grounds.

He sighed and emptied the coffee grounds into an old pan to dump on the garden. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he headed to the fridge for a carton of milk and poured it into a paper cup to take along. On second thought, he drank it and refilled the cup with cream. This wasn’t just any chipmunk and he knew where this conversation was going.

– Ellie Hadsall, April 12, 2018

From the author: “This story is part of my “Random Sentences; Random Stories” series. Individuals have contributed random sentences from which I write a short story. I never know what the sentence will evoke until I begin writing. The results are greatly varied and take me on adventures of insight. I hope you enjoy them!”

Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.

Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review: … “This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest…” more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.

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When you relocate, does your heart come, too?

Thanks, Rich Heiser, for this seed sentence! April 11, 2018

“Sometimes, when you relocate, you need to purposely DRAG your heart with you.”

Sometimes, when you relocate, you need to purposely DRAG your heart with you.

Vernon’s heart strongly resisted relocating. He knew it was better by far if your heart drags you instead of the other way around. But he couldn’t see that happening. Maybe if he forced a relocation, his heart wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.

Life had lost its inspiration. Days followed each other in predictable measure. Get up. Walk to the coffee shop. Talk with the same people about the same humdrum events. Avoid politics. Return home. Go to his studio. Open the blinds to let in what light could enter through the narrow windows. Pick up a brush. Paint. It was increasingly difficult to find motivation and he knew that above all, he needed change.

Life had become a comfortable jacket. Worn in some places, a bit frayed at the edges, maybe even boring to wear at times. But he knew the smell of it and how it warmed him on a bitter cold night as he painted in his dark and drafty studio. Damn! He needed a nip of smooth scotch now and then to make up for the chill wafting through those worn window panes. He’d talked with the local realtor more than once, trying to work up the nerve to sell this place before it was so out of date it was only good to raze to the ground. It had its charm and some young upstart might be fool enough to be taken in by its gables, multilevels, curving staircase, and rusty pipes. He could take the money and settle into a snug townhouse somewhere with warm electric heat and a brightly lit studio. Let someone else tend to the trees and grass. Spend more time painting. Be inspired to care again. Profits from the house along with his latest commission offered comfort for a few years and would allow him time to find the right place and explore new techniques.

But it was hard to let go of the dream home his parents had built. Since early years as a small boy, he had stared out the windows at the big old apple tree, watching it bud, bloom, prop up bird nests, turn into shades of brown in the fall, and stand bare until snow piled high on its branches. He grew up in this old house. Knew it’s secrets. Had his own secrets hidden in the back corners of his mind. But one, long dormant, was pushing to the surface.

The article had been buried deep within yesterday’s newspaper. He still wasn’t sure how it caught his attention. “Woman seeks information on her roots.” It might not even be her, but somehow, he knew it was. With her name, it couldn’t be a coincidence. And his secret held her answer.

He stared at the canvas in front of him. Her face formed itself in the spontaneous splashes of deep purple dripping down the amber staircase he had dabbed in yesterday. Would this woman want to know what he had to tell her?

Dropping his brush on the table, he poured one more thumbs-width of scotch into his glass and slumped into the chair. Remembering.

Steering his way home through alleys, to avoid Snarly Gander’s local thugs, he had almost hit her. Slamming his brakes, he had skid to a stop, got out and approached the slowly moving wraith with the bright red beret sliding off the disheveled hair.

“Ma’am?” The shadow turned to face him. Her face. He couldn’t shake the memory of that wretched face for years. Her left eye and lips swollen from a brutal punch, makeup smeared across her cheek, dress ripped, and belt askew. But what haunted him the most was her swollen belly.

“Sir…help me. Oh, God, please help me! Help us!

He led her to the car and set her into the back where she could lay down. She was shaking so hard, he wasn’t sure she could sit upright.

“I’m getting you to the hospital.”

“No!” She wailed, arms flailing in protest. “You can’t! Please! They’ll kill me!”

“Who?”

She shook her head. “Can’t say. They’ll kill me!”

“Where’s home? I’ll take you home.”

“No! They’ll look for me there! Somewhere else. Anywhere! Help me, please!”

“Got a family?”

“No more – they kicked me out. Please, I have nowhere!”

So he took her to his home. What else was he to do? He knew those mean streets. Filled with men who fought to run the local booze racket and women who did what they could to survive.

He set her up in his parent’s old room with its faded morning glory wallpaper until he figured out what to do with her. Three months later he still hadn’t figured it out.  By then it was far beyond figuring. She was fast approaching a delivery day and he still didn’t know her name. “Corrina” she told him, but every other woman was Corrina ever since that damn song had hit the clubs. He figured it wasn’t her real name, but it didn’t matter anymore. He was already hiding her, so why not add her name to the list of secrets?

Corrina insisted on secrecy. “If the father finds out where I live, he’ll kill me. The baby. And you. He tried the night you found me, but the bartender intervened by kicking me out the back door and announcing drinks on the house.”

Vernon snooped as deeply as he could to find out who was at the Green Mill that night. Kip the bartender was as closed mouthed as they came and who could blame him? His livelihood depended upon confidentiality. Couldn’t blame a man for doing his job. But after months of accumulating bits and pieces of information he figured it out. And understood why Corrina refused to talk. He didn’t push her on it. She already had more than most to handle.

Corrina’s belly grew. You could see the baby’s feet kicking as it squirmed around. She let him feel her belly as it moved. At night, he thanked God for Corrina. “God, you know I never wanted a kid or even a wife. Don’t want to be responsible for anyone but me. But it’s been a nice surprise to have them with me for just a little while. Just don’t make it forever.”

He did insist on one thing. He wanted someone there to deliver the kid.

“Corrina, you gotta have a midwife.”

“Yeah, sure. Okay. I’ll let you know when.”

She didn’t. He should have known. She announced labor pains with a loud moan in early morning. Lucky woman, that Corrina. The kid popped out in three hours. Arrived at 4:14 on the nose. For some reason, he always remembered that. He cut the cord, washed the squalling baby in warm water and wrapped it in a blanket, hands shaking all the while. He’d only seen Molly deliver her pups when he was eleven and watched a cinema of a baby born to pioneers, but it was enough.  He and Corrina, they got through it okay.

“Valarie. Her name is Valarie.”

“She got a last name?”

“Davis will do just fine.”

Six weeks of a nighttime crying baby made it hard to get up in the morning to go to work. But that little Valarie was hard to resist. He’d go pick her up to shut her up when Corrina was napping, and she’d coo and giggle until he grinned. Then she’d settle back into his arms and gaze into his soul with those deep blue eyes. It made him wonder, for the first time, what caused existence and how a baby survived to adulthood. And how God was smart to make babies cute, so you could tolerate their constant disruption to life. That Valarie was a real eye-opener for him. Something to consider as a strange gift. But he found himself relieved when Corrina announced it was time for the two of them to move on.

“Where you going?”

“I got old friends with kids. I can live with them until I get a job and on my feet. I wrote them I’m a widow and they want to help.”

He gave her money for a trip and food along the way, but she wouldn’t tell him where they were headed. “It’s better that way. You saved our lives and never questioned me for the truth. You may not understand but when you took me into your home, you took a big step closer to death. God must have been looking out for us both.”

He took them to the bus station and waved them off.  All he knew was that the destination on the front of the bus said “New York” but it could have dropped them off anywhere along the way – Corrina and her tiny Valarie.

Well, he’d carried them along with him in his own way, pulling the memories out occasionally to ruminate over, but never seriously considered doing more.  Until that damned newspaper article.

“Woman seeks information on her roots.” Valarie Davis. Philadelphia. Her mother, Corrina, was deceased and she sought any living relatives. Vernon wasn’t a relative, of course, so wasn’t under any obligation. But he couldn’t let it rest. It nibbled constantly at the edges of his thought until he gave in and pulled out the map. A flight to Philadelphia offered a much-needed change into his stale life. Maybe he’d been too comfortable for too long.

He wrote a brief letter to the address in the paper and a reply arrived only a week later with an address. “It’s a coffee shop. I hope you respect my caution, but until I meet you I prefer to not share my address.” Of course he understood. After all she was Corrina’s daughter and he was glad she’d been raised well. Her handwriting was neat, forming sentences with proper grammar, and a neatly hand-drawn sparrow on a branch on the bottom indicated her interest in art. Something they could share in common.

He bought a flight, arrived, and checked into a quiet motel. In the morning he arose to get to the coffee shop before she arrived. He was nervous and chuckled to himself. “Relax! It’s not like she’s an art critic or interviewing you for a show.”

He found a booth and ordered a coffee, black, wishing he had a few drops of hooch to add to the mix. Just to ease his nerves.

Corrina walked in, or at least her close copy. Tall, slim, self-assured. Her clear blue eyes scanned the room and found him.

“Vernon?”

He nodded, gesturing for her to join him and motioning to the server.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Thank you for coming. I had no clue where to start looking except Mom told me I was born in the Grand Crossing neighborhood, so I posted in local papers. You’re the only one who answered.”

“Yeah, it’s because no one knew the name of Corrina Davis except me.”

“Now I know why Mom insisted my nickname was ‘Vernie’. You can call me that. Everyone else does.”

“Corrina did that?”

‘”Yes. She said it was to honor someone special in our life. But she never said more than that. She was always tight-lipped about anything before my birth and I learned early to not push her about it. It always put her into a deep depression. I learned to let it be.”

“I don’t know much about her before I met her but will share what I can.”

So, Vernon pulled memories out from far back in the dusty recesses of his mind to share with Vernie. And the more he talked, the more he realized he had been revisiting their times together regularly all these years. More than a few times, his voice choked as he described her early days.

“You were a good baby. Happy-go-lucky. Made me laugh.”

She invited him to her home, insisting he stay a few days. He figured it as part of his adventure, so he agreed. She led him to a guest bedroom, helping him settle in.

“With what little Mom told me, she said the man who took us in was a young artist.”

“I started off slow but it’s a decent living for me now. Wasn’t in my early years, but it’s proven a good life.”

“Mom insisted I have art lessons and people say I’m pretty good. Want to see my work?”

He stood silently gazing into the room filled with sunlight, vases of flowers, and bright canvases propped against the walls. But one thing, more than anything else, caught his eye.

“Morning glory wallpaper?”

“Yes. Funny you should notice. For some reason, I’ve always been drawn to blue morning glories. It’s why my paintings focus on flowers, I think. The highest commission I’ve earned so far is of sparrows on an apple blossom branch.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. Had she really absorbed so much of his home as a tiny baby? Was the place of birth more powerful than one’s genes? God, he hoped so.

Sharing a bottle of wine, their conversation wove deeper and deeper into the night.

“So, are you going to tell me who my father was?”

“We never knew. Corrina wouldn’t tell me and I never found a clear answer.”

“But he was a gangster, wasn’t he? I always figured that’s the only reason she didn’t want to say.”

“It’s possible but I never got a clear answer from her.”

One little lie wouldn’t hurt, would it? Vernie had a good life here. She was honest, pretty, successful in her own way. From what he could see of her paintings, she had a good chance at life. Tell her that her father was the most notorious gangster in America and shatter her world? No, if her mother didn’t want her to know, he wasn’t going to be the one to ruin her life. “I always suspected some good looking young hustler took advantage of Corrina. It happened to a lot of nice young women in prohibition days.”

Hesitantly, Vernie leaned forward. “I’d like to study with you, Vernon. I’ve checked out your art in the American collection at the Museum of Art. It speaks to me. Do you ever tutor starving artists?”

He considered. Was this a gift from his heart, or a nuisance waiting to pounce? Did he want to tie himself down with someone he barely knew? But the morning glories! And the apple tree branches! Wasn’t that something? When you couldn’t explain something – when you didn’t conjure it up with your mind – when it found you

“Possibly, but Vernie, can you come to Chicago?”

She shook her head. “Not easily. I depend on my day job to support my painting.” She slumped back in her chair, considering. Suddenly she shot upright.  “Maybe you could offer workshops here? Travel here occasionally? I usually have a roommate to share my rent but she just moved out so I have two rooms and a bath upstairs you can use when you come here, until I get a new renter, of course. But we’ve just met and I’m sorry if I’m rushing things. Mom always said I jump before I plan. But it usually turns out okay…” her voice dwindled down shyly.

“Can I see the rooms?”

She led him up the stairs onto a brightly lit landing with a room on each side. On the left, to the north, was an inviting room of taupe and ivory. To the right, a sunny yellow room with ivory trim and three floor-to-ceiling bay windows surrounding a window seat. He glanced at the wall, eager of what he might see and found it. A thermostat for an electric furnace.

“I’ll do it.” The words popped out before he could consider. Too late to call them back. He was committed. Responsible. He had purpose. Someone to encourage and inspire. A daughter, you might say.

She rushed to hug him. “If you like it, and we get along okay, maybe you can rent it? That is, if you’d want to.”

If he sold his house – no, when he sold his house – he could relocate his life into this studio, which he was confident was his, earned long ago by taking in a desperate young, pregnant woman. He would take her daughter to Europe where they could tour cities of the old masters and paint, side by side, overlooking the parks of Aries. As he had settled into a steady existence over the years, he’d forgotten that long-ago dream. Hope and a fresh life bubbled up in his heart.

Long he had feared that when he relocated, he would need to purposely drag his heart with him. Today, he was confident that it was better by far if your heart drags you instead.

– Ellie Hadsall, April 12, 2018

From the author: “This story is part of my “Random Sentences; Random Stories” series. Individuals have contributed random sentences from which I write a short story. I never know what the sentence will evoke until I begin writing. The results are greatly varied and take me on adventures of insight. I hope you enjoy them!”

Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.

 

Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review: … This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest… more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.

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Is it time for new life patterns?

Are you cutting life from the same old patterns and habits, yet constantly frustrated because life keeps handing you the same old problems?

Maybe it’s time to create new patterns for your life, or consider giving up patterns entirely so you can make choices based on the merits of each unique situation.

pattern, sewing, scissors, marking pen, cloth

Change patterns of choice and behavior. Create new designs for life.

If people keep worming their way into your life business, maybe you need to create stronger boundaries.

If relationships start great and end up sour, maybe you need to choose a different kind of partner or change how you relate.

If you have energy crashes all day and can’t sleep at night but follow a pattern of starting the day with espresso, snacking on cookies and treats to get through the afternoon, and finishing the day with a beer or two glasses of wine, maybe it’s time to change your diet plan.

Following the same patterns of choice and behavior we have always followed, while expecting a better result, is illogical and guarantees frustration, depression, and fatigue.

Nothing nurtures a sense of helplessness as much as failing to follow our own wisdom.

Break up your life patterns.Try something different.

Wear a new color of shirt. Redecorate a room. Go to a new restaurant. Walk your dog in a different park. Invite a friend to go hear a local band. Rather than forging ahead, make a ninety-degree turn to the right and see where it takes you. Instead of saying, “This is the way I do it”, say “I’m going to do it differently this time.”

Nothing will change until you do.

“Take life into your own hands and make it happen. It’s your life; Lead it!” 

Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.

Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review: … “This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest… more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.

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Breathe!

Some days, everything hits at once and the only thing that gets you through is breathing.

Be okay with that.

“Take life into your own hands and make it happen. It’s your life; Lead it!” 

Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.

 

Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review: … This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest… more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.


 

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Are you living an illusion?

Much like Robert Gonsalve’s paintings, life is an illusion. How we interpret an event depends upon our point of view. Perspective. Current emotional state. Self-esteem. Self-talk. Storyline. History.

There is hope in this. Shift your way of looking at life, and life shifts around you.

illusion paintings by Robert Gonsalves

Painting by Robert Gonsalves. See more on Bored Panda

If you pack past grievances carefully in a suitcase, re-check it regularly to confirm you haven’t forgotten anything, and carry it with you, the weight becomes radically burdensome. Any new experience must be carefully assessed according to what you carry. You’ll need time and energy to open the suitcase, hold today’s experience against each piece of content, and decide if it merits your upset. It all adds up to hopelessness, depression, and feeling stuck.

Consider the option of re-examining this process. What if you shifted your perception? Decide to stand tall for yourself instead of being a victim? Focus on positives instead of negatives? Look for solutions instead of blaming? Take classes on healthy parenting instead of feeling like the kid runs the show? Change yourself instead of demanding others change? Set boundaries instead of being run over? Take charge of your own life instead of allowing other people’s opinions to rule your choices?

You can do this.

“Take life into your own hands and make it happen. It’s your life; Lead it!” 

Find more of Gonsalve’s amazing paintings.


Follow this Cosmic Gathering blog to automatically receive future posts! (click on the blue in the right-hand column on this page)

Ellie Hadsall is an author and director of Cosmic Gathering, dedicated to unconditional support for your transformational journey.

Ellie’s Latest Book: PATHWALKER  (see side bar —–>)

Review of PATHWALKER: … “This is the BEST non-fiction book I have read in years. I could not put it down! The story is super engaging, Eleni, the main character, is so wise and inspiring. The story of a community based on deep respect, for the earth, for nature, and for each other, gives me hope in these times of corruption, chaos and extreme unrest… more reviews


Ellie Note: Any ads inserted below this article are advertisements selected by WordPress to support their free blogs, which I fully appreciate. The ads do not necessarily represent me or my works.

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