Jan Marquart's Blog - Posts Tagged "healing"
Daughters and their mothers
I am fascinated by the daughter/mother relationship. My mother died in 1984 so, you might speculate, why am I so interested in this relationship in 2011? Because I have found that even though my mother died so many years ago, our relationship, or rather my relationship with her, still lives.
Strange-you might say. Trust me, the relationship is a powerful one. We were born out of her body, she is our role model as her daughter whether we decide to be like her or not to be like her. For daughters who have daughters they want to parent like their mothers or not like their mothers. Even daughters who were given away by their mothers or who never knew their mothers are impacted by this powerful figure.
I love telling the story about my friend Shirley. When I wrote Echoes from the Womb, a Book for Daughters, www.createspace.com/3546083, I asked 100 women to fill out a questionnaire with only two questions on it. One was, how does your relationship with your mother impact your relationship with women and two, how does your relationship with your mother impact your relationship with men. Shirley wouldn't answer the questions because she thought, since her mother abandoned her at age 5, her mother wasn't relevant.
Years later she married a friend of mine and one day while we were having breakfast out on the peer watching the ocean, I told Shirley I loved her outfit. Shirley is a fantastic artist so colors are her things. Her husband mentioned that he picked out her outfit. Shocked, I asked why. He said since Shirley never had a mother to organize her clothing for school in the morning, she wanted him to do it. She said it would help her heal an old childhood wound.
I love that story not just because these are two very special people to me who love each other so much that they are willing to heal each other, but because it is a testament to the power of mothers.
Tell me your story. I love hearing how this relationship effects your life.
Strange-you might say. Trust me, the relationship is a powerful one. We were born out of her body, she is our role model as her daughter whether we decide to be like her or not to be like her. For daughters who have daughters they want to parent like their mothers or not like their mothers. Even daughters who were given away by their mothers or who never knew their mothers are impacted by this powerful figure.
I love telling the story about my friend Shirley. When I wrote Echoes from the Womb, a Book for Daughters, www.createspace.com/3546083, I asked 100 women to fill out a questionnaire with only two questions on it. One was, how does your relationship with your mother impact your relationship with women and two, how does your relationship with your mother impact your relationship with men. Shirley wouldn't answer the questions because she thought, since her mother abandoned her at age 5, her mother wasn't relevant.
Years later she married a friend of mine and one day while we were having breakfast out on the peer watching the ocean, I told Shirley I loved her outfit. Shirley is a fantastic artist so colors are her things. Her husband mentioned that he picked out her outfit. Shocked, I asked why. He said since Shirley never had a mother to organize her clothing for school in the morning, she wanted him to do it. She said it would help her heal an old childhood wound.
I love that story not just because these are two very special people to me who love each other so much that they are willing to heal each other, but because it is a testament to the power of mothers.
Tell me your story. I love hearing how this relationship effects your life.
The Basket Weaver
Randy and Alana head out to the Yucatan to, hopefully, enjoy another environment, relax, and get their relationship back on track. Here is an excerpt of the beginning of their vacation in the Yucatan written in my book, The Basket Weaver.
In the morning we board a badly dented bus headed for the ancient ruins of Tulum. The bus is filled with local people and a handful of tourists and starts down the road negotiating around
large potholes in the dusty road. I stare into the bronze faces of
passengers squeezed into a humid and muggy bus that smells of sweaty skin and hot food from plastic grocery bags that pull their bodies over from their weight. A young boy tries to hold
himself up as the bus jerks back and forth by gripping onto his mother’s skirt. She holds two chickens by the neck; their freshly dead bodies dance to the bus’s movement. A small man clutches a rooster in his arms, like an infant, relying upon the closeness of other passengers to hold him up.
We have been on the bus almost an hour without any grocery stores or houses in sight. But tourists rarely know where
the locals do their daily shopping, and I have a travel book about the Tulum ruins on my lap that I intend to read during the ride. But, as yet, I haven’t opened it. I am more interested
in the faces of the local passengers. Without warning, the bus stops in the middle of seemingly nowhere and steals my attention. I look around, check the time; we have another hour to go before we reach our destination. Randy asks me why we have stopped; I have no idea and simply shrug my shoulders.
No one gets off and no one gets on. The bus remains caught in the heat with its doors open, waiting; there is no movement
from anyone. My first thought is that there is something wrong with the bus, and I wonder what we will do in the middle of the jungle with no public anything in sight. My imagination
goes wild. Perhaps this is a holdup by terrorists. I look around. There is nothing happening; no one moves. Foreign countries raise my paranoia. We sit and wait in the daunting heat. A few minutes later, a small Mexican man walks towards
the bus holding the hand of a thin, petite woman. They are both smiling into the thick air. Then it becomes obvious that we were waiting for them. She is as pretty as he is handsome, and I try to understand where they might have come from and how the driver knew to pick them up. The couple boards the bus and squeezes the already closely knit passengers closer together while the driver hits the gas pedal and forces everyone to sway forward, then back to stay upright. Black smoke spews out the tailpipe leaving a black cloud behind, evidence of where we had just been. I move my head from side to side and try to get a better look at the couple.
I feel called to watch them. They stare into each other’s eyes. It doesn’t seem to matter that her shoes are worn and slightly ripped along the sides or that his shirt has tattered seams with
the third button from the top missing. No, they look deeply in love with all the warmth and sexual tension of first-time lovers. Their clothes are old but clean and neat. Seams are pressed,
and there are no wrinkles on the old cotton. They reek with the hopeful effort of new lovers. I can’t take my eyes off them because they have pulled me into their energy and it renews me.
(end of quote) P.15,16
Ever go on a vacation to heal a relationship? Although this is a novel, this scene actually happened when I went to the Yucatan years ago with a boyfriend. Much of this book is true although I have put it in fiction form to add creativity to the story. I do hope you enjoy it.
If you want to read more about the way Alana finds forgiveness, resolution, and her own healing powers through sessions in which she explored past life experiences with a Mayan healer, you can order it at www.createspace.com/3553668
For anyone trying to sort out pain and unresolved issues about relationships, this book offers a process to consider.
In the morning we board a badly dented bus headed for the ancient ruins of Tulum. The bus is filled with local people and a handful of tourists and starts down the road negotiating around
large potholes in the dusty road. I stare into the bronze faces of
passengers squeezed into a humid and muggy bus that smells of sweaty skin and hot food from plastic grocery bags that pull their bodies over from their weight. A young boy tries to hold
himself up as the bus jerks back and forth by gripping onto his mother’s skirt. She holds two chickens by the neck; their freshly dead bodies dance to the bus’s movement. A small man clutches a rooster in his arms, like an infant, relying upon the closeness of other passengers to hold him up.
We have been on the bus almost an hour without any grocery stores or houses in sight. But tourists rarely know where
the locals do their daily shopping, and I have a travel book about the Tulum ruins on my lap that I intend to read during the ride. But, as yet, I haven’t opened it. I am more interested
in the faces of the local passengers. Without warning, the bus stops in the middle of seemingly nowhere and steals my attention. I look around, check the time; we have another hour to go before we reach our destination. Randy asks me why we have stopped; I have no idea and simply shrug my shoulders.
No one gets off and no one gets on. The bus remains caught in the heat with its doors open, waiting; there is no movement
from anyone. My first thought is that there is something wrong with the bus, and I wonder what we will do in the middle of the jungle with no public anything in sight. My imagination
goes wild. Perhaps this is a holdup by terrorists. I look around. There is nothing happening; no one moves. Foreign countries raise my paranoia. We sit and wait in the daunting heat. A few minutes later, a small Mexican man walks towards
the bus holding the hand of a thin, petite woman. They are both smiling into the thick air. Then it becomes obvious that we were waiting for them. She is as pretty as he is handsome, and I try to understand where they might have come from and how the driver knew to pick them up. The couple boards the bus and squeezes the already closely knit passengers closer together while the driver hits the gas pedal and forces everyone to sway forward, then back to stay upright. Black smoke spews out the tailpipe leaving a black cloud behind, evidence of where we had just been. I move my head from side to side and try to get a better look at the couple.
I feel called to watch them. They stare into each other’s eyes. It doesn’t seem to matter that her shoes are worn and slightly ripped along the sides or that his shirt has tattered seams with
the third button from the top missing. No, they look deeply in love with all the warmth and sexual tension of first-time lovers. Their clothes are old but clean and neat. Seams are pressed,
and there are no wrinkles on the old cotton. They reek with the hopeful effort of new lovers. I can’t take my eyes off them because they have pulled me into their energy and it renews me.
(end of quote) P.15,16
Ever go on a vacation to heal a relationship? Although this is a novel, this scene actually happened when I went to the Yucatan years ago with a boyfriend. Much of this book is true although I have put it in fiction form to add creativity to the story. I do hope you enjoy it.
If you want to read more about the way Alana finds forgiveness, resolution, and her own healing powers through sessions in which she explored past life experiences with a Mayan healer, you can order it at www.createspace.com/3553668
For anyone trying to sort out pain and unresolved issues about relationships, this book offers a process to consider.
Why Wait Til New Year?
Why wait until New Year? Why not start right now to become the quality person you want to be. Isn't there too much needless suffering due to resentment, confusion, lack of forgiveness, and understanding of some of the painful situations we live?
At the end of three decades, after trying everything I could imagine, I sat with my distress and tried to figure out how I could save myself from more needless and confusing suffering. I picked up my pen and began writing and the rest is history.
What came out of this exercise to exorcise was my book The Basket Weaver.
Here is an excerpt. (In this scene Alana is trying to enter a past life experience in Tulum to do some healing with her sister. Molo is the healer.)
“Listen carefully: you will not die. Now is the time to use your strong will.”
Hot tears slide down my cheeks. I can’t drop into Tulum, but something has happened because I can’t get back to Molo either.
“Do as I say, don’t get lost in a fake reality. Your emotions are real, but they belong to an illusion. Find the strength from your dream and nourish yourself. Call up that strength and let it take you to Tulum.”
Everything feels dark and ominous. I am lost, lost in space, lost inside myself, lost from all sense of worlds. I feel turned inside out.
Molo’s voice comes through like strong wind. “Accept and acknowledge the present moment. Allow it to be. Embrace it.”
I allow the feeling of nothingness, become one with it, and then suddenly I drop into Tulum’s meadow. Kikuat is near a tree and catches my eye, smiles, and walks away. My sister comes near, giggling with her friends. I describe the scene to Molo.
“See? See how as soon as you stop fighting yourself, reality is more available? Now, stay mindful of each moment no matter how it feels. Then you will find your way back to yourself. Whatever you are feeling, let yourself claim it. Know this: your sister is not your source for love. No human being is your source. If you don’t see this, you’ll never overcome the power you give others over you.”
I turn to face my sister and tell her I am not her enemy. I let her know that I really want to be her friend. She pulls back to get more distance. I know this moment is crucial. I stop, unsure of what to do next.
Molo’s voice instructs me to find a quiet place. I walk to a large banana tree and sit.
“Good. Now is the time to realize that you are not what others say you are. So, tell me, what makes other’s judgments about you true?”
“Well, I must have done something wrong, or they wouldn’t have these judgments.” My heart squeezes tight.
“No, listen to my question. Tell me, what about you makes their judgments true?”
“I don’t know how to answer that,” I respond.
“Alana, even if you did something horrible to your sister, why wouldn’t she bring it to you for resolution instead of holding it against you? That is what healthy people do. Think beyond this. There are two possibilities: one, she has an inability to solve her own distress without rage, and two, there is no problem except her own interpretation which she is not willing to re-assess. Neither option says anything about you; they say something about her.”
Surprisingly, I can smell the vanilla fragrance wafting up from the lit candles in Molo’s living room. I laugh. For the first time I see my sister as a stranger, unattached to me, and it tickles. I have two bodies now, the one on the moist grass in Tulum and the one on a chair in Molo’s living room.
“Good. You have become light, laugh more.”
I laugh again.
“Stay there and laugh for a while.”
I giggle for a few moments, uncontrollably. I see love emanating from me.
“Good,” Molo says again. “Now look over at your sister. Do you see her?”
I nod.
“Ask yourself why you seek her love if she isn’t good to you.”
“She’s my sister. I love her. Why wouldn’t I want her to love me in return?”
“I understand. We each want love from those we love. However, she isn’t giving you love. She isn’t giving you respect or kindness or any of the other qualities that comprise love. What are you going to do about that?”
“I guess I can try harder.”
“You think that will work?”
I stop, pick up a dry banana leaf off the ground, and snap it in half. “No,” I say sadly. “But…I have to do something.”
“Why?”
“To be loved back.”
“That’s not good enough.”
A slight wind blows my hair; the salty wind cools my hot tears. I take a deep breath.
“Yes, your soul wants you to let in some fresh air.”
“I feel light now, but when I think of my relationship with my sister, I feel a sickening struggle.”
“Yes, what if you stayed in the lightness?”
“It’s painful; I’m getting angry.”
“Why?”
I get an urge to run as fast as I can.
“Why?”
“I don’t like the price of the lightness.”
“Stay in the moment.”
“I feel a little stronger,” I announce.
“Good. You have given your body back its strength.”
Just then my sister interrupts, and I stand to face her.
“You aren’t getting your baskets; they are mine. Do not ask me for anything anymore because I will never help you. I don’t like you.” Her veins push out of her neck, and her eyes are venomous.
Within seconds the strength drains out of me. I fall to my knees from the impact of her words; they steal my breath. I try to find the strength to stand. My knees buckle.
“I am coming in to get you,” Molo calls. She appears on the grass in front of my sister. “You are angry with her?” she asks my sister.
“Yes.”
“Why is that?”
“She is always telling me what to do. I hate her.”
“Do you need guidance for what to do?”
My sister glares at Molo out of the corner of her eyes. “No. I can make my own decisions,” she bristles.
Molo turns towards me. “Tell your sister that from now on you will let her make her own decisions. Tell her that it is you who doesn’t want to have a relationship with her anymore. Tell her she can keep the baskets, but each time she uses any one of them, she will be reminded of how much you love her. Love and let go. Love her in your heart if you must, and let go of her. Turn this over to God, your true source of love. You must do this or a part of you will die while it’s waiting for her to love you in return.”
Molo turns me around to face my sister. “Tell her when she learns to be kind to you, you will be there for her. Until she finds a place of kindness for you, you will remain distant.”
I turn to my sister and say what Molo wants me to say. Molo’s hands are pressing my shoulders. We wait for my sister to respond. Arrogantly, my sister turns and walks away. Molo walks me to the banana tree and pushes me to sit.
“It is better for your sister if you stop sending her love. Send it to healthier places. Make space between you two so you can move fully into the present moments of your own life. No one ever knows what someone will do when they are given the space they think they want.”
“So making space between us is good for her?”
“Yes, it is good for her, and for you too.”
“Really?”
“There is no other way.”
She takes my hand, and together we reenter her living room. I feel the chair under my legs and my feet on her velvet carpet. When I open my eyes, she is sitting in front of me holding out a glass of water. I take it and drink fast. All thoughts and emotions evaporate. My body goes limp.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel…I feel…empty.”
“Good,” she nods in approval, “feeling empty is a form of peace. It is a place of great space. Emptiness is a place of great beginnings.”
end of quote. I do hope that this passage gives you food for thought so in this new year 2012 you will have healthier relationships with everyone you know and yourself.
The Basket Weaver can be ordered at:
www.createspace.com/3553668 or www.JanMarquart.com
Happy New Year!
Until next time,
Jan
At the end of three decades, after trying everything I could imagine, I sat with my distress and tried to figure out how I could save myself from more needless and confusing suffering. I picked up my pen and began writing and the rest is history.
What came out of this exercise to exorcise was my book The Basket Weaver.
Here is an excerpt. (In this scene Alana is trying to enter a past life experience in Tulum to do some healing with her sister. Molo is the healer.)
“Listen carefully: you will not die. Now is the time to use your strong will.”
Hot tears slide down my cheeks. I can’t drop into Tulum, but something has happened because I can’t get back to Molo either.
“Do as I say, don’t get lost in a fake reality. Your emotions are real, but they belong to an illusion. Find the strength from your dream and nourish yourself. Call up that strength and let it take you to Tulum.”
Everything feels dark and ominous. I am lost, lost in space, lost inside myself, lost from all sense of worlds. I feel turned inside out.
Molo’s voice comes through like strong wind. “Accept and acknowledge the present moment. Allow it to be. Embrace it.”
I allow the feeling of nothingness, become one with it, and then suddenly I drop into Tulum’s meadow. Kikuat is near a tree and catches my eye, smiles, and walks away. My sister comes near, giggling with her friends. I describe the scene to Molo.
“See? See how as soon as you stop fighting yourself, reality is more available? Now, stay mindful of each moment no matter how it feels. Then you will find your way back to yourself. Whatever you are feeling, let yourself claim it. Know this: your sister is not your source for love. No human being is your source. If you don’t see this, you’ll never overcome the power you give others over you.”
I turn to face my sister and tell her I am not her enemy. I let her know that I really want to be her friend. She pulls back to get more distance. I know this moment is crucial. I stop, unsure of what to do next.
Molo’s voice instructs me to find a quiet place. I walk to a large banana tree and sit.
“Good. Now is the time to realize that you are not what others say you are. So, tell me, what makes other’s judgments about you true?”
“Well, I must have done something wrong, or they wouldn’t have these judgments.” My heart squeezes tight.
“No, listen to my question. Tell me, what about you makes their judgments true?”
“I don’t know how to answer that,” I respond.
“Alana, even if you did something horrible to your sister, why wouldn’t she bring it to you for resolution instead of holding it against you? That is what healthy people do. Think beyond this. There are two possibilities: one, she has an inability to solve her own distress without rage, and two, there is no problem except her own interpretation which she is not willing to re-assess. Neither option says anything about you; they say something about her.”
Surprisingly, I can smell the vanilla fragrance wafting up from the lit candles in Molo’s living room. I laugh. For the first time I see my sister as a stranger, unattached to me, and it tickles. I have two bodies now, the one on the moist grass in Tulum and the one on a chair in Molo’s living room.
“Good. You have become light, laugh more.”
I laugh again.
“Stay there and laugh for a while.”
I giggle for a few moments, uncontrollably. I see love emanating from me.
“Good,” Molo says again. “Now look over at your sister. Do you see her?”
I nod.
“Ask yourself why you seek her love if she isn’t good to you.”
“She’s my sister. I love her. Why wouldn’t I want her to love me in return?”
“I understand. We each want love from those we love. However, she isn’t giving you love. She isn’t giving you respect or kindness or any of the other qualities that comprise love. What are you going to do about that?”
“I guess I can try harder.”
“You think that will work?”
I stop, pick up a dry banana leaf off the ground, and snap it in half. “No,” I say sadly. “But…I have to do something.”
“Why?”
“To be loved back.”
“That’s not good enough.”
A slight wind blows my hair; the salty wind cools my hot tears. I take a deep breath.
“Yes, your soul wants you to let in some fresh air.”
“I feel light now, but when I think of my relationship with my sister, I feel a sickening struggle.”
“Yes, what if you stayed in the lightness?”
“It’s painful; I’m getting angry.”
“Why?”
I get an urge to run as fast as I can.
“Why?”
“I don’t like the price of the lightness.”
“Stay in the moment.”
“I feel a little stronger,” I announce.
“Good. You have given your body back its strength.”
Just then my sister interrupts, and I stand to face her.
“You aren’t getting your baskets; they are mine. Do not ask me for anything anymore because I will never help you. I don’t like you.” Her veins push out of her neck, and her eyes are venomous.
Within seconds the strength drains out of me. I fall to my knees from the impact of her words; they steal my breath. I try to find the strength to stand. My knees buckle.
“I am coming in to get you,” Molo calls. She appears on the grass in front of my sister. “You are angry with her?” she asks my sister.
“Yes.”
“Why is that?”
“She is always telling me what to do. I hate her.”
“Do you need guidance for what to do?”
My sister glares at Molo out of the corner of her eyes. “No. I can make my own decisions,” she bristles.
Molo turns towards me. “Tell your sister that from now on you will let her make her own decisions. Tell her that it is you who doesn’t want to have a relationship with her anymore. Tell her she can keep the baskets, but each time she uses any one of them, she will be reminded of how much you love her. Love and let go. Love her in your heart if you must, and let go of her. Turn this over to God, your true source of love. You must do this or a part of you will die while it’s waiting for her to love you in return.”
Molo turns me around to face my sister. “Tell her when she learns to be kind to you, you will be there for her. Until she finds a place of kindness for you, you will remain distant.”
I turn to my sister and say what Molo wants me to say. Molo’s hands are pressing my shoulders. We wait for my sister to respond. Arrogantly, my sister turns and walks away. Molo walks me to the banana tree and pushes me to sit.
“It is better for your sister if you stop sending her love. Send it to healthier places. Make space between you two so you can move fully into the present moments of your own life. No one ever knows what someone will do when they are given the space they think they want.”
“So making space between us is good for her?”
“Yes, it is good for her, and for you too.”
“Really?”
“There is no other way.”
She takes my hand, and together we reenter her living room. I feel the chair under my legs and my feet on her velvet carpet. When I open my eyes, she is sitting in front of me holding out a glass of water. I take it and drink fast. All thoughts and emotions evaporate. My body goes limp.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel…I feel…empty.”
“Good,” she nods in approval, “feeling empty is a form of peace. It is a place of great space. Emptiness is a place of great beginnings.”
end of quote. I do hope that this passage gives you food for thought so in this new year 2012 you will have healthier relationships with everyone you know and yourself.
The Basket Weaver can be ordered at:
www.createspace.com/3553668 or www.JanMarquart.com
Happy New Year!
Until next time,
Jan
Who's In Charge?
Let me say right from the beginning: doctors are wonderful. The allopathic medical profession does amazing things for the health of human kind. But we cannot leave out wellness into the hands of anyone else. We must take charge in some way and in some manner to heal our own bodies.
When I had a stroke from herbs in 1988 I was in great shape. I was fit as a fiddle as it is said. I jogged, skied, did yoga daily, lifted weights and went swimming at a health club each night after work. I was a walking example of health. I was 38 years old. I felt I was in the prime of my life.
I bought an herbal formula to help my thinning hair that reached to my thighs. In drinking the herbal formula for three days as I was told as a tea, by the fourth day I had a stroke-like-event. The details are in my book The Breath of Dawn, a Journey of Everyday Blessings. www.createspace.com/3546000
Although I lived alone, as luck would have it, I was at a new boyfriend's house in the mountains. Ironically I lived across the street from the hospital. As I was wheeled into the ER I quickly started losing all ability to function. I was totally surrendered to the capable hands of the medical profession. I praise them because I knew they saved my life.
But the actual healing part, I began to realize as I awoke from a coma, was in my hands and the use of my mind. While the doctors spoke over my inactive voice stories of gloom for my future, I saw myself running on the beach in a long cotton dress, my straw hat upon my head with the water glistening from the bright sun. I kept my mind as active as my concentration allowed making sure every thought was put on a healing vision.
I surrounded my body with green light and only let positive people in the hospital room. When someone with a negative attitude, fearful that I might die entered the room, I broke out in a wail and the nurses had to remove that person. I knew I could die at any moment. I needed the energy to remain positive.
My recovery happened. That was amazing enough. But my expected stay in the rehabilitation facility which was deemed to take three months, took three weeks. I spent every minute I had telling the staff what I needed, refusing the things that depressed me, and reading, albeit only one sentence a night because of my inability to concentrate, positive and healing books.
I have been told my book The Breath of Dawn www.createspace.com/3546000 has changed lives. As soon as I got home I taught myself to type again. That was 1988 and I only owned a small Smith-Corona typewriter. My hand couldn't write well but I practiced my letters with a huge Styrofoam pad around a pen so I could grip it and wrote furiously for as long as I could which usually lasted about 45 seconds. I felt obsessed with having to write my story, not just for my own healing but because I was healing and overcoming obstacles I felt obliged to pass on. The experience was so big that there was no way I could not give it up to others.
I would love to hear what you think about my story and if it relates to you or someone you know who has suffered at the hands of an illness or traumatic injury. My rehabilitation doctor said my book changed the way he viewed his clients and staff.
Until next time,
When I had a stroke from herbs in 1988 I was in great shape. I was fit as a fiddle as it is said. I jogged, skied, did yoga daily, lifted weights and went swimming at a health club each night after work. I was a walking example of health. I was 38 years old. I felt I was in the prime of my life.
I bought an herbal formula to help my thinning hair that reached to my thighs. In drinking the herbal formula for three days as I was told as a tea, by the fourth day I had a stroke-like-event. The details are in my book The Breath of Dawn, a Journey of Everyday Blessings. www.createspace.com/3546000
Although I lived alone, as luck would have it, I was at a new boyfriend's house in the mountains. Ironically I lived across the street from the hospital. As I was wheeled into the ER I quickly started losing all ability to function. I was totally surrendered to the capable hands of the medical profession. I praise them because I knew they saved my life.
But the actual healing part, I began to realize as I awoke from a coma, was in my hands and the use of my mind. While the doctors spoke over my inactive voice stories of gloom for my future, I saw myself running on the beach in a long cotton dress, my straw hat upon my head with the water glistening from the bright sun. I kept my mind as active as my concentration allowed making sure every thought was put on a healing vision.
I surrounded my body with green light and only let positive people in the hospital room. When someone with a negative attitude, fearful that I might die entered the room, I broke out in a wail and the nurses had to remove that person. I knew I could die at any moment. I needed the energy to remain positive.
My recovery happened. That was amazing enough. But my expected stay in the rehabilitation facility which was deemed to take three months, took three weeks. I spent every minute I had telling the staff what I needed, refusing the things that depressed me, and reading, albeit only one sentence a night because of my inability to concentrate, positive and healing books.
I have been told my book The Breath of Dawn www.createspace.com/3546000 has changed lives. As soon as I got home I taught myself to type again. That was 1988 and I only owned a small Smith-Corona typewriter. My hand couldn't write well but I practiced my letters with a huge Styrofoam pad around a pen so I could grip it and wrote furiously for as long as I could which usually lasted about 45 seconds. I felt obsessed with having to write my story, not just for my own healing but because I was healing and overcoming obstacles I felt obliged to pass on. The experience was so big that there was no way I could not give it up to others.
I would love to hear what you think about my story and if it relates to you or someone you know who has suffered at the hands of an illness or traumatic injury. My rehabilitation doctor said my book changed the way he viewed his clients and staff.
Until next time,
Am I the Only One?
Am I the only one who has had a relationship that created confusion and angst?
I will answer my own question: I don't think so. When there is disharmony in a relationship everyone wants to claim how right they are. People say they want harmony while they stand in their corner of the boxing ring waiting to beat the other person, convince them to think the way you do, convince them to make peace, to behave as you want, and to accept the part where they are wrong. These tormenting relationships are rich with lessons just awaiting the healing process to deeper understanding of yourself and to learn how to forgive and let go.
FYI - forgiveness is not the same as giving approval for someone's actions. Forgiveness is not about the other person. Forgiveness is what you want to do with the pain inside your own heart. Allow them to stand in the boxing ring while you step out of it and walk on in spiritual development.
We cannot move on, in peace, without forgiveness. What does this mean? It means that even though we might think we are moving on because we have made a self-promise to not let the matter bother us, forgiveness doesn't fully work without a resulting inner peace. If you still hold a grudge or resentment, you have not moved on. Peace does not cover up the pain with the mind; peace comes through the heart. The mind's natural state is to grab hold of the situation and work it so that we can understand how to make ourselves right in the eyes of the other person. But that has nothing to do with forgiveness. It simply has to do with being good at manipulation.
When you examine the relationship in your mind and heart from all angles, it becomes easier to employ understanding, compassion, and empathy. Then what winds up evolving is an altered pain. Remember the other person has had a life of experiences that impacted them to behave and think the way they do. Unless they want to accommodate you; they won't.
Peace comes without effort, especially when you realize that the actions of the other person had nothing to do with you; their actions or reactions had to do with their choices and the continuity of their lives. Of course, we influence each other and in that light we make them react. But we don't change them through it.
Psychologists will tell you that you can't make people feel anything. That's psychobabble designed to empower you. Of course we make people feel certain emotions. If I told you that you just won $50,000 I can make you feel happiness. If I stalk you, I can make you feel nervous. If I take your purse and run while you are walking down the street I can make you fearful around blondes who walk past you. But then what? What you do with that because whatever it is, is up to you, completely. That is where we disempower the harm others cause us.
All relationships are partnerships. When you decide you don't want to be in a partnership that hurts you, then you can make a decision more objectively. When you find yourself feeling detached compassion, impersonal compassion for someone in that position, then you have set a seed for your own freedom and the readiness to forgive. Forgiveness is an intricate process. It doesn't just happen because you want to be free of the pain.
When you have opened room to forgive, through a deeper understanding, you know that you have overcome, triumphed, and are standing on fertile ground to forgive. At that point, you are free to have your energy and mental powers for other things. You can forgive, not condone, and let go and move on with your own life.
What did I do about my situation? I did what any writer does: I wrote and wrote and wrote. The result? The Basket Weaver now an ebook on Amazon, or it can be ordered at: www.createspace.com/3553668 in paperback. Writing heals. I haven't felt the pain of this relationship since the book was completed.
Find that voice within. Pour it out on the page and don't stop until you are done crying, fretting, understanding, employing compassion, and screaming. Let it all out.
Until next time,
Jan
I will answer my own question: I don't think so. When there is disharmony in a relationship everyone wants to claim how right they are. People say they want harmony while they stand in their corner of the boxing ring waiting to beat the other person, convince them to think the way you do, convince them to make peace, to behave as you want, and to accept the part where they are wrong. These tormenting relationships are rich with lessons just awaiting the healing process to deeper understanding of yourself and to learn how to forgive and let go.
FYI - forgiveness is not the same as giving approval for someone's actions. Forgiveness is not about the other person. Forgiveness is what you want to do with the pain inside your own heart. Allow them to stand in the boxing ring while you step out of it and walk on in spiritual development.
We cannot move on, in peace, without forgiveness. What does this mean? It means that even though we might think we are moving on because we have made a self-promise to not let the matter bother us, forgiveness doesn't fully work without a resulting inner peace. If you still hold a grudge or resentment, you have not moved on. Peace does not cover up the pain with the mind; peace comes through the heart. The mind's natural state is to grab hold of the situation and work it so that we can understand how to make ourselves right in the eyes of the other person. But that has nothing to do with forgiveness. It simply has to do with being good at manipulation.
When you examine the relationship in your mind and heart from all angles, it becomes easier to employ understanding, compassion, and empathy. Then what winds up evolving is an altered pain. Remember the other person has had a life of experiences that impacted them to behave and think the way they do. Unless they want to accommodate you; they won't.
Peace comes without effort, especially when you realize that the actions of the other person had nothing to do with you; their actions or reactions had to do with their choices and the continuity of their lives. Of course, we influence each other and in that light we make them react. But we don't change them through it.
Psychologists will tell you that you can't make people feel anything. That's psychobabble designed to empower you. Of course we make people feel certain emotions. If I told you that you just won $50,000 I can make you feel happiness. If I stalk you, I can make you feel nervous. If I take your purse and run while you are walking down the street I can make you fearful around blondes who walk past you. But then what? What you do with that because whatever it is, is up to you, completely. That is where we disempower the harm others cause us.
All relationships are partnerships. When you decide you don't want to be in a partnership that hurts you, then you can make a decision more objectively. When you find yourself feeling detached compassion, impersonal compassion for someone in that position, then you have set a seed for your own freedom and the readiness to forgive. Forgiveness is an intricate process. It doesn't just happen because you want to be free of the pain.
When you have opened room to forgive, through a deeper understanding, you know that you have overcome, triumphed, and are standing on fertile ground to forgive. At that point, you are free to have your energy and mental powers for other things. You can forgive, not condone, and let go and move on with your own life.
What did I do about my situation? I did what any writer does: I wrote and wrote and wrote. The result? The Basket Weaver now an ebook on Amazon, or it can be ordered at: www.createspace.com/3553668 in paperback. Writing heals. I haven't felt the pain of this relationship since the book was completed.
Find that voice within. Pour it out on the page and don't stop until you are done crying, fretting, understanding, employing compassion, and screaming. Let it all out.
Until next time,
Jan
Writing Away PTSD Symptoms
Writing to heal PTSD symptoms and Other Symptoms of Stress is not an easy task. It takes more than daily journal writing in order to reach into the subconscious and heal symptoms that wreck a life.
The subconscious is the place within our minds and spirits that hold our creative and imaginative energy. Healing is an act of transformation and requires both the imagination and the transforming energy of creativity.
Once the imaginative and creative energies are accessed, recovering from life-altering symptoms is possible. Intensive writing accesses the internal power and allows the mind to integrate the fragmented pieces of the self that trauma and stress create.
Take a Write to Heal PTSD and Other Symptoms of Stress workshop - online - in the comfort of your own home. email [email protected] for more details.
Until next time, keep the pen moving,
Blessings, Jan
The subconscious is the place within our minds and spirits that hold our creative and imaginative energy. Healing is an act of transformation and requires both the imagination and the transforming energy of creativity.
Once the imaginative and creative energies are accessed, recovering from life-altering symptoms is possible. Intensive writing accesses the internal power and allows the mind to integrate the fragmented pieces of the self that trauma and stress create.
Take a Write to Heal PTSD and Other Symptoms of Stress workshop - online - in the comfort of your own home. email [email protected] for more details.
Until next time, keep the pen moving,
Blessings, Jan
An Unwanted Journey
Everyone has a part of life that has brought them unwanted experiences. And these unwanted experiences are the stories that usually provoke a person to pick up the pen and write about what happened to them. Why do so many people write about their pain, publish them in memoirs, and fly around the country telling their stories? Because writing and sharing challenging, traumatic, and difficult stories helps heal, not just the writer, but the reader as well.
Teenagers, parents, veterans, mothers, daughters, neighbors, employees - there is not a description of a person that doesn't fit into a category of having a story that needs healing. We all have them. We go into therapy to talk them out, we make appointments with our physicians to see if the symptoms from stress might not be cured with a pill, we meditate, exercise, take yoga all to help heal from difficult experiences. It doesn't matter who you are or what you have to heal from, writing can be a powerful way to uncover, recover, and discover a reborn self.
For a brochure on my 6 week course Write to Heal PTSD and Other Symptoms of Stress email me at: [email protected]. Meanwhile get out your pen and write out what happened. Tell your story in every detail. Leave nothing out. Take your time. Spill it all onto the page. Go deep then deeper and visualize yourself healed - then write about that.
until next time,
Jan
Teenagers, parents, veterans, mothers, daughters, neighbors, employees - there is not a description of a person that doesn't fit into a category of having a story that needs healing. We all have them. We go into therapy to talk them out, we make appointments with our physicians to see if the symptoms from stress might not be cured with a pill, we meditate, exercise, take yoga all to help heal from difficult experiences. It doesn't matter who you are or what you have to heal from, writing can be a powerful way to uncover, recover, and discover a reborn self.
For a brochure on my 6 week course Write to Heal PTSD and Other Symptoms of Stress email me at: [email protected]. Meanwhile get out your pen and write out what happened. Tell your story in every detail. Leave nothing out. Take your time. Spill it all onto the page. Go deep then deeper and visualize yourself healed - then write about that.
until next time,
Jan
