People Who Whine Get Drunk on Their own Whine

The rain is falling.  The garden is frozen.  The clay is cold.  The sky is gray.  The first day of fall is two days away.

The good news is that I’m back.  All of the summer things that take my attention away are drifting out of reach for the season, and typically this is a time to return to myself once again.  Except for a few flats of green tomatoes, I am free.

For most of my life I’ve felt scattered and maybe a bit flakey.  I’ve followed any path that had a few good breadcrumbs scattered across it, and often the crumbs have led me deeply into the beautiful, tangled forests.  I wanted to understand intentional cruelty, human behavior, creating, relationships, the lively and wily brain/mind, and most importantly, the living spirit and what it means to be human.  I’ve earned degrees.  I’ve earned certificates.  I’ve earned confusion and doubt.  I’ve earned good friends, colleagues, and even clients.  I have, on occasion, even earned a little money.

In my little green $250 camper trailer is a large box of notebooks that chart my course over these many years.  Writing, for me, is integration.  It is how I take knowledge and mistakes and experience and stir them up together to see what I’ve actually learned.

But something new is unfolding as we carve this new life on our ten acres.  Inside, I am excited and waiting.  Something good this way comes.  In current reality, I live in a one-room straw bale cabin and, as the weather changes, I struggle with how to continue to work in live in such a limited space.

Somehow condensing my life into this small space—having dumped three quarters of the stuff I was packing around—makes me look out and above the material world.  A new integration is taking place.  Over the past month I’ve done several presentations and workshops at women’s retreats and conferences; and as I’ve reflected on each one, I’ve noticed a change.

The many paths are becoming one path.  The tools I’ve learned are re-arranging themselves and become a single toolkit for one purpose—how to build core strength and a big voice for change in the world.  I long ago realized that I often teach what I most want to learn—and this must be it.

The me who now opens her mouth in front of a group is a new me.  I don’t know her very well yet, but I plan to get to know her better.  Her fears are evaporating.  Her flakiness is redefining itself as “core strength.”  Her platform is solid now and she is standing firm.  Here is what is on her mind at the moment.

  • People who are unwilling to get lost in the forest will not discover who they really are.
  • People unwilling to get it wrong are unlikely to get it right.
  • People who want it all to be easy and smooth will have a dull ride.
  • People who don’t dig will never find the buried treasure.
  • People who whine get drunk on their own whine.
  • People who don’t bring a pen to a book signing will have trouble signing books.  (That one is for me specifically).
  • People who wear sandals to an outdoor event in September will get cold feet.  (Also for me)

That was fun.  I like my little summaries.  My goal the past couple of years has been to strengthen my core self and gain a bigger voice.  It is coming into view.  Cool.

With fall comes time to write again.  I plan to post once a week (or more) from here on out.   On a practical note, I’m pleased to announce that I did spend some time this summer finishing and publishing two new books, The Genealogy of the Soul and See Me Beautiful.  I’ll post them on my websites with descriptions post haste.

Happy Autumn.




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