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What is Nia Dance?

Sometimes I burst out in tears when I think about my mom, and I’m occasionally surprised at how close I feel to the sadness, but I don’t question it, as grief is what it is. This usually happens when I am doing the dishes or sweeping the floor or some other mundane task, but not always; sometimes it happens when I am out in public and I find creative ways to work the tears into whatever it is I am doing. I get a pang in my heart and find the most comforting thing to do is to put my forearm over my eyes and let it all hang out, even if in silence. It is usually short-lived, but bellows from deep down.

Last night I threw a ribeye on the hot iron skillet and it hit me just as the sizzle splashed up; the sorrow of my mother’s death. The sorrow of her unlived life; dreams never seen, love never felt. It is not that I wish she were here, because we did not spend much time together and when we did it was strained — or something. I cry for her sadness and how our entire lives together were summarized in those few short days or minutes before she could not speak anymore. I cry for not having a daughter; who will hold my hand when I die? But still, my mom and I made our peace. She loved me. She was sorry. I was sorry. I loved her.

I often see it as my mother slipping into a black, fiery hole, on a board that is angled at a fairly steep 45-degree angle, leading into the black, murky hole. It is a big hole and I am kneeling on one knee on the edge, with my arm extended towards her, leaning farther in as I am physically begging her to grab my hand. There are angels standing along the edge of the hole, probably about ten of them — I just counted them for the first time in my mind, because I have not paid much attention to them. My mom is slipping feet first into this hole and she is looking back up at me, reaching towards me and trying to say something to me as if its the first time she is speaking to me and obviously, it is the last time. Always in this scene, I am reaching towards her with my right arm as I have my left forearm over my eyes, as I hang my head low in deep sorrow. She is leaving me for the final time. The sadness goes deep.

“Don’t be scared, Mom”, as she slips in deeper.
What do I know? Nothing. It’s hard to know what to say when someone is dying.
I miss her. I think she’s okay. What do I know?

When I am hit with this moving picture show in my mind, and once I compose myself, I think about how much my life has changed since my mom’s death. In many ways, maybe I too was sliding into a big black hole, because I certainly didn’t feel all that alive 18 months ago. I was trapped in my own fears, imprisoned by my own thoughts and completely out of touch with my heart. I had accepted that I was getting old and that there would be no more real moments of joy nor carefree silliness in life; only perhaps drunken silliness, and this is not really all that silly, except that it is pretty silly.

I clutched my heart a lot after my mom’s death; I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe and I was terrified. I reached for the walls when I walked in case I fell down. I was so afraid I was dying. Nooooooo, please not like this. I found a doctor, made an appointment. Then fell asleep for two weeks.

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My first trip after crumbling was to Lake Tahoe

After I changed everything in my life, I actually started to have real fun again. My spirit came back after I left Chicago and moved to my mom’s empty place in Woodstock, where I began to pursue the things that mattered most to me. People fell out of my life, good ones and bad, as did a number of jobs — money too; oh the money went tumbling out. I started taking long walks around Lake Geneva, because I simply had to move about outside, as well as doing lots of yoga. I quit drinking and drank kale juice every morning and soon felt amazingly strong and ready for new adventures. I was breaking free of the shackles of my life, which in hindsight felt a lot like walking through a long dark hallway while being striped of every thread I wore. It was beautiful and terrifying time, and the fears of the future were loud, but my faith grew louder each day as I awoke to a new ability to see and feel…. energy. Twirling Figure 8’s are what I see, everywhere. They make me hopeful.

I am certain I will spend the rest of my life learning about energy, even though I hear those sarcastic Irish voices in my head that say, “you do WHAT Meag??! You see Figure 8’s???? Should you be driving? Are you in the paint again Meag???” I boot those needling leprechauns aside and forge ahead — they cannot stop me now because they are all dead and I am alive and roam the earth with my trusty energy balls.

I initially thought I would be an energy healer in my next career, but as I dig deeper, I am not so sure. To work with people’s energy is to associate with them on such an intimate level, which presents all sorts of ethical issues that I’m not interested in, quite frankly. I have always been a bit of a loner, so I looked to other ways of working it. Which is why I am super-glad I have jumped into the arena by returning to my first love, DANCING.

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I am now a Nia Technique teacher, although for years I studied and taught Gabrielle Roth’s 5 Rhythm’s. I loved my time in the 5 Rhythms but my life fits so much better with Nia now. However, no one is coming to my classes just yet, but gosh it’s great practice! I suspect this dance may be a bit too progressive for Dripping Springs. Change is in the air here and people are moving here in droves, but the majority of people here are young, church-going families, who I suspect are not looking to take a dance class that combines the best of modern dance, martial arts and the healing arts. I keep my heart and my eyes open for new horizons, as usual, as I look outside of Texas.

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When I taught dance in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

What is Nia dance, you ask? When founders Debbie and Carlos Rosas created NIA in the early 80’s as an alternative to the high-impact aerobics craze, they called it “non-impact aerobics”. Over time they determined the acronym was negative, so research took them in a new direction. It was then renamed “Neuromuscular Integrated Action”, but how lame is that? About 15 years ago, a truth revealed itself: in Swahili, Nia means ‘purpose;’ in Hebrew, it means ‘to create subtle movements.’ Ah, the metaphysical truth.

In Nia, we use nine classic movement forms: three from the martial arts (t’ai chi, aikido, tae kwon do), three from the dance arts (jazz, modern, Duncan), and three from the healing arts (yoga, Alexander Technique, Feldenkrais). There are also 52 fundamental steps and patterns. When the custom choreographed music starts up, I move the moves by adding my own personality and style of dance, so that it becomes my dance — and I encourage you to discover your dance. This is why I really love Nia, it honors the skill level and development of the individual spirit with these age-old practices. There is no wrong way to do Nia, unless you are hurting yourself; you move in your body’s way. I learn something new each time I dance the dance and I anticipate future learning pangs.

I incorporate tools to improve my body’s energy during my class that I have learned over the past several months, and I also share them on Instagram, called #newenergyin15 . I’ve learned these tips from Lee Holden, Sonia Choquette, Lydia Wong, Donna Eden at Eden Energy Medicine ( I LOVE Donna’s energy!) and from my own inspiration, so it really is becoming my style and maybe someday I will have students!

When the tears for my mom appear, I let them hang out, because they keep me grateful and in tune with why I pursue the things I pursue. My mom’s dreams were cut short many years ago while she sat around waiting to die and then she fought like hell in the final hours. I’m attempting to mow down my regrets before they have a chance to fester; having sat with three people as they laid dying revealed some crushing views on life and I am thanking my stars above that I have an opportunity to turn my life around. Once again. 😀

My mission statement: “I want the rest of my life to be the best of my life.”
My quest to understand energy has only just begun, so do you care to dance with me?
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The things you discover when larking about …

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I had the best of intentions when I started this challenge; to share a part of myself every day for the month of June, and I do share a bit of myself each day on Instagram. However, I had to hit the brakes on my writing, because there was such a huge shift in my world, energetic and physical, I thought my head was going to explode. It did not and I continued to do a mountain on energy work and my inspiration have never been so charged to press ahead. I am consumed with it, this desire to push through my limits, to continue writing, to push the limits on almost every boundary in my life, all in an effort to do the things that ring true in my heart.

I’ve been afraid of being thought of as being weird by everyone “outside of my head”. No more. On this date of June 27, 2014, I no longer care if you think I’m weird, because I no longer think I’m weird, because my mom apologized to me for thinking I was weird before she died and I’m finally finally FINALLY starting to get it!

My mom’s deathbed apology was beyond a game changer for me — and I can’t stand that phrase “gamechanger” — but her confession yanked the earth out from under me, forced me to crawl on my hands and knees, shake my fist at hell and scream at the heavens; it striped me of all my earthly belongings; the things I so desperately thought I needed to look “normal” enough for this world… and I was not even happy in that world as it was all blowing up on me, but I had no clue what else to do. Much like the Titanic’s band, I hung on, singing my familiar songs of woes and going down with the ship. Gloriously defeated and striped of everything.

Except I was not striped of spirit. My spirit lifted me up off the depths of despair and dusted me off. What else would Spirit do?

When my mom was in her final hours, something happened in that room in the middle of a dreary Northern-Illinois-February-Day. There were sun rays on my mom’s face and I looked high and low to try to figure out where they were coming from, because the sun was no where in sight on this day, this week, nor this month. I sat down, looked at my mom, cocked my head to the side and gazed at her. She became a girl again. Her wrinkles evaporated, her puffiness slipped away. She was a young girl. And that young girl looked exactly like me. I sat there for a long time, looking at my mom, with her new young face and the sun rays twinkling on her cheeks. It was me, well, me before my reckless years and hopelessness.

There was hope in my mom’s face and her body was almost dead. But not her Spirit. Or was it my Spirit? It doesn’t matter.

My whole life I have been fascinated by spirits, by the afterlife, by seeing stories in my head that I was not sure of… and I kept all of this to myself most of my life because… well because my mom thought I was weird. She told me she was afraid of me and that I lived too loud for her. I asked too many questions. I was weird.

I used to struggle at the thought of people thinking I was weird, and that makes for a life lived on the fringes. But I honestly don’t care anymore if you think I’m weird.  I’ve lost everything in the world yet here I live on this gorgeous little slice of a ranch in the middle of Texas, surrounded by all sorts of animals that talk to me on a daily basis, all thanks to a very generous ex-husband, who only has the best intentions for me and wants to see me happy.

I have everything I need plus a stack of books and a mountain of inspiration to learn more, because I’m finally embracing the fact that I am not weird, that I have a very strong intuition and I can help others with my intuition — I proved it to myself this past week and have been crying tears of gratitude all week.  My whole life, I’ve been fascinated by this subject and never believed the reason I was drawn to it was because I have it too. I no longer doubt.

I believe!

My first step was to acknowledge this. And now for the good part!

Stay tuned, xoxo

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Summer Solstice!

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I missed a day of posting… I’ll be honest, I simply ran out of things to talk about and I have also started a new project with a company that has taken up a good chunk of my time. That said, today of the eve of the Summer Solstice and I was finally able to prepare an altar!

I have not had an altar since last summer solstice; I have been on the road and living out of a suitcase for the past six months until I landed here, and since my feet are now firmly planted on the earth, I created a new altar — and I simply adore adore ADORE this one, because so many more things have come into focus for me.

In this altar, I have offered plants, herbs and oils of rose petals, lavender, frankincense , oak bark, cedar, cinquefoil, peppermint and eucalyptus to the Mother Goddess, in addition to plenty of personal artifacts; buddhas, ganeshs, angels and faeries — even a Sherlock Holmes from my time in London, plus photos, jewelry, stones, crystals, a prosperity bowl, candles, little dishes and so one. An altar is literally nothing more than a private place of personal inspiration, memories, momentums — anything that moves you — placed on a whatever small piece of furniture you have available and located in a place that you can call your own. This is probably my biggest one yet and I love it!

Don’t forget add a little snack as a friendly offer to your spirits! I have added a small piece of chocolate to my altar; and if there happens to be an emergency and I must eat said chocolate, I keep more on hand and am always happy to share.

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Summer Solstice is at 5:51am CST on June 21, 2014 and my candles are a glow; I stood in the river this evening and acknowledged my intentions to the North, South, East and West as the sun was setting. I am prepared to welcome the new and usher the unwanted!

Happy Summer Solstice :))

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deathbed regrets

I seem to be stumbling upon more and more stories about deathbed regrets. I have been doing a load of writing these days, both sharing publicly and privately; I write as soon as I wake up, freehand, a la The Artist’s Way morning pages, just to dump the garbage out of my head to start the day.

So I was prompted, what would be my deathbed regrets? Free form, just letting it flow, no edits, just a few typos:

I would regret not loving more, that I kept to myself for most of my 40’s because I didn’t think I was good enough for the company of anyone. I was ashamed of myself because I struggled with smoking cigarettes and feeling absolutely horrible about that but was unable to stop. I felt bad for wrecking my marriage to Reed which was another reason I hid out — I didn’t think I was lovable anymore. That has all changed since I’ve made peace with Reed and my mom apologized to me; I, for the first time in my life, felt I had to stop doing bad and harmful things — like smoking, which when I was ready to quit a month after my mom died, I smoked my last butt on the morning of March 11, 2013 and celebrated that freedom without looking back ——— that is until I arrived in Mexico for Thanksgiving. I totally love being a non-smoker and I see now that my years of struggles with that awful trap were a way for me to continue to hide. My thinking was, “no one loves me, so who cares if I smoke?” And so I would smoke and say, “well no one is going to love me because I smoke so who cares, I’ll keep smoking.” It was a vicious cycle and it tormented me for years because I knew that was not who I was deep down and that I had been smothering myself, my true self for a very long time in order to just maintain – but that was hardly maintaining, that was being totally dishonest to who I was deep down and I was a broken girl for many years because of it, or so I thought.

I always knew my mom was not crazy about me. She much preferred my brothers and I knew it and I guess in hindsight it hurt my feelings that she thought I was weird and different and mostly she just tolerated me. But I was definitely the weird one, and that’s how I lived my life, as an outcast, never really understanding that it had anything to do with my mom. I know I had daddy issues — what girl doesn’t, and worked through most of them, but I never made a connection to not feeling loved by my mom. And I’m not blaming her — I know that she was not favored much as a young girl herself — my grandmom preferred the boys over my my mom as well; she was just passing the buck. And unfortunately or now perhaps fortunately, I have always felt too much, always wondered too deep, always searched so high for my answers in life — which drove my mom crazy — and my entire life I have been asking, “what is wrong with me?” and now I know that there was nothing wrong with me, I just didn’t feel loved; I was hungry, and now at this age and intersection of my life, I can do something about this before it is too late and then perhaps I won’t have deathbed regrets of not having loved enough.

My mom said, “y’know, I was wrong about you… I wish I had gotten to know you… I am sorry I was not nicer to you….” and these words were the magic potion that melted the steel cage around around my heart and now I cannot deny loving myself for the first time in my life. At this age of 48, I have connected the dots and understand that there has been nothing wrong with me, and now I choose love.

My mom’s words haunt me on a daily basis and I can live with this because it is a constant reminder that I want to be really good to myself and rise above. I was a sarcastic, angst-ridden woman my whole life, I leaned on pills, booze and smokes; not all of the years, but many of them, in between long stretches of sobriety, yet I would rush back to these vices when the going got tough and they would take my pain away for the moment, for the night, for the moment. I did years of therapy, 12-step groups, alternative therapies, and just flat out abstinence from everything, inducing food one year, and then I would still end up feeling like shit because I picked shitty men, men who didn’t care about me and ignored me and rejected me. I lived life as a healthy person on the outside, because that’s totally who I wanted to be yet on the inside I was grasping for straws and crying and felt lost and unloved and empty and I never understood why and I would work to make money so I could ask yet another professional, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??” and I never got a satisfying answer.

It’s been a wicked ride, without a doubt, because through all of this, I was always up for an adventure and I traveled far and wide to search for these answers or to just escape myself. I think my Spirit kept me alive and searching, knowing that someday I would find that answer — so my Spirit or my Angels or my God or something decided to let me live even though I attempted suicide twice in my young life. My calls for help ran deep.

And who fucking knew that it would be my mothers’ deathbed apology that would sky-rocket me into arriving at the answer to my life-long question and discovering that THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME, IT’S ALL ABOUT LOVE.

Love, love, love, I honestly never in a million years realized the answer would be so simple. And when I awoke from the funeral, from the nightmare of losing yet another job, from the freedom of quitting smoking, I looked at myself in the mirror and said,

“well there you are, hi.”

I no longer harm myself with shitty harmful things and people who do not care about me. I intend to live the remainder of life in loud, colorful and vibrant way. Surrounded by love xoxo.

Thank you Mom.

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Shari the Master Gardener

This past May, I stumbled into a super-funky, super-vintage and totally cool furniture haunt in Bee Cave called Revival and fell in love with the place as soon as I walked in.

The first reason is that they have a pot-bellied pig named Hamlet, who roams the property and always seems to be chuckling at you or with you, I haven’t decided and honestly don’t care. He’s cute and he knows it. He even has his own air stream trailer with his name on it when he’s had it with the paparazzi.

Hamlet

I liked this place as soon as I walked in; it’s got a easy-peasy down-to-earth vibe, the artwork is local and cool, and the furniture and decor pieces are really unique and one-of-a-kind. I’ve had a lovely conversation with every person that I’ve met here.

I attended their first Succulent Class with Shari, their Texas Master Gardener and had a fabulous time with her and appreciate all the things she shared with me. Plus, whoo-wew that’s a fancy title I do declare!

shari

You know how every once in a while, you meet someone you can honestly share a few of the private little corners of your life with, and that person shares a little bit of their private little corners with you and suddenly you become bonded to that person in a special way and it doesn’t even matter if you ever see that person ever again?

Yeah, that happened and it was cool. Shari has spectacular energy and I swear there’s a halo hovering over her too.

I bumped into Shari at Whole Foods a few weeks later and when she saw me, she jumped up and down and said, “Oh, Oh, Oh, I have something to show you!!!!” as she threw things out of her purse onto the counter at customer service. What could she possibly have to show me?

She whipped out her iPhone and showed me her lock screen… it was me and my succulent planter!  I LOL’d all over Whole Foods because it was a goofy photo, but how cool was it that she made it her lock screen?

lockscreen

I asked Shari how she became a Master Gardener and she told me all about the program through Texas A&M and Travis County and wouldn’t you know it that by the end of that day I was signed up for the program and awaiting further instructions.

Well today was my first interview for the Master Gardener Training class, and it was pretty darn cool! Admission to the program is only offered once a year and out of everyone that applies, only 30 are chosen.  I am currently filling out the application and will submit before the June 30th deadline.

Exciting!

I’m also working at Revival now! xoxo

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When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Laughing all the way home!
Laughing all the way home!

I believe in the afterlife and I believe I we are visited by those whom have passed before us. I take comfort in knowing that I receive visitors; not often, not every day, but I know it when it happens. And yesterday’s visit made me laugh and cry and I’m *still* laughing.

Tom McGovern was a very crabby man and was proud of the fact that he didn’t like people. Tom was my uncle, twin to my other uncle, Tim McGovern. Tim was quite possibly the happiest McGovern out there, and that’s saying something, because the McGoverns loved to be the antagonists, the pot-stirrers, the rabble-rousers, the I’ll-speak-my-mind-and-probably-never-apologize-later type of people. I grew up around some wicked-biting sarcasm, and admit I have enjoyed many of the tongue lashings I have been witness to over the years.

The Twins fit together, like peas and carrots; Nice Twin, Evil Twin and together they balanced each other out.

They were 12 years older than me, so when I appeared on the farm back in the day, they were right there and were like brothers to me. Tim was my favorite and I adored him from the moment I met him. We were great friends our entire lives until he left this earth in 2010, struck down by cancer and a terrible fear of doctor visits.

My heart; officially broken.

Tom did not like being in this world without Tim, I don’t think he had a peaceful day after Tim’s funeral. His heart was not only broken; it was now half missing. He became even angrier and although we attempted to remain civil towards each other, eventually we stopped talking. Even as I received news that Tom was not well, I said nothing to him. He was mean and hurt my feelings boo-freakin’-hoo.

In January of 2013, my brother Sean called to say Tom was in Cook Country Hospital and that it didn’t look good. Then a call from my mom, “Don’t go see him Meagan, he doesn’t want to see you.” I lived blocks away from Cook County Hospital and I said to my mom, “If he wants to go to his grave hanging on to some stupid outrageous resentment, that’s his choice — that seems to be everyone’s choice in this family, but it’s NOT how I live and I am GOING to go see him!!” Even my Aunt Nancy called to say not to visit, that he was still mad at me. I said nothing, then hung up. I went to Cook County Hospital to see my Uncle Tom.

We had a lively talk; he talked about who he wanted to say goodbye to and what he will miss. We laughed about eating hot dogs and skittles. He asked me to bring him an Italian sub from Bari on Grand, I agreed. He talked of the Board of Trade and how he missed Tim. He told me to go see my mother. I hugged him through the masks and tubes. We both had tears in our eyes.

“Do you know what’s going on here, Tom?” “Yeah of course, Mommie Dearest is standing in the doorway, waving at me.” “Anyone else standing there?” “No.” “Are you okay with this?” “Yes.”

Tom died three days later. Refused his last rites, take THAT Catholics.

So yesterday I was in Zumba class and it was packed to the gills with the ladies from Dripping Springs. The energy was high and the music was pumping and everyone was in a great mood. You could feel it! I really do love starting my day with this class, it’s a kick to the heart and there are so many women in this class who are enjoying the hell out of it — I am one of those gals.

About ten minutes into class, I said to myself, “oh my there’s a lot of young nursing mothers in this class, obviously!!” The amount of jiggling, bouncy, brightly covered boobs were more remarkable this day than on any other day, and the hips were in full gyration as well! I glanced at the instructor Anna, and in a flash, her smiling face became my Uncle Tom’s face. I quickly looked away and said to myself, “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT, TOM?????!?!?!”

I couldn’t look at her yet, my eyes darted around the room; I continued to zumba away and I fired out the questions…. “Tom hates health clubs, why would he show up here? Plus Tom hates me, what is he doing here?” Then I looked up and around at the women in the room and saw again that the room was full of voluptuous, dancing breasts, bouncing from one side of the room to the other and it made me smile. I was ready to look at Anna and sure enough, there was Tom’s smiling face looking at me, looking around the room, laughing, laughing, LAUGHING! He was beaming!

I started laughing too, and then tears streamed down my face. I didn’t stop dancing, I kept zumbaing, as I looked at all the wonderful bouncing boobs and I was hysterical in my head! I laughed all the way home and was so very happy to see my Uncle Tom, and to see his Irish eyes were a’smiling, xoxo.

Tom & I, that one time we posed together 😀
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Painting. Glass. Reverse.

Years ago, I don’t remember where, possibly Chicago I think, maybe San Francisco, I saw a reverse glass painting of a Parisian cafe scene and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I didn’t buy it, but boy I wish I had — why didn’t I buy it?

I love the layers that were created by painting on glass and the elements that could be placed behind the glass, as if you are looking into a room or cafe or whatever the subject may be.  Reminds me of the shadow box painting my mom used to do.  My mom was such a talented artist in her day, well even to the end of her days with her quilting, but it was her early painting that always mesmerized me.

So I didn’t buy that reverse glass painting I saw years ago in some far-away city, of some other far-away city’s hopes and dreams, and recently I came across another reverse glass painting at an antique gallery in San Antonio, Texas that made me stop in my Texas tracks.

I. Did. Not. Buy. It. D’oooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh why not, I do not know! It was from Istanbul, as well! Of TWO ANGELS are you kidding me what’s wrong with me?!?!?!?!?!?!

This recent stumbling across this angelic reverse glass painting, which I rarely see, reminded me of that other glass painting I saw years earlier and how I’ve always wanted to try this method.  It’s tricky, do you want to know why? Because you have to paint in reverse of what you are accustomed to painting. Highlights first, dark shadows last. Front-to-back.

Reminds me of the brain teasers I learned in Lydia Wong’s t’ai chi classes; “Anything that breaks up normal brain pattern is a good thing, because it keeps your mind sharp and creates new thinking patterns.” Does this instagram video link work for you?

I’ve done two now and feel like I am ready to stretch out of my comfort zone. One thing I have always struggled with when I first begin to paint or do any sort of creative exercise, is that I am so afraid to make a mistake.  It holds me back until I can talk myself out of it. There are no mistakes, but I certainly have to warm up to this.

I may have to go back to San Antonio to look for those two angels, but in the meantime I will be more adventurous, and not just with the reverse glass paintings! 😀

 

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And now a Lark’s word on Creativity

…. that magical buzzword everyone is in search of.

when I was in San Antonio about a week or so ago, I visited a darling bookstore named Twig and asked if they had the book, “Notes on Graphic Design and Visual Communication” as was recommended by Jack WOW Davis in his CreativeLive Creative Photography class that I took last week.  The clerk told me they did not have it in stock but she would be happy to order it, to which I replied, “no, that’s okay, I’ll order it from Amazon.”

Well the clerk just about crumbled to pieces and said, “nooooooooooo, not Amazon!!!”  “Oh my gosh, I am sooooooooo sorry, that’s probably the worst thing I could have said in here! I will not order it from Amazon, I promise!!”

I did not order it from Amazon, I was able to find it at the independent bookstore Half Price Books and need to pick it up one of these days.

While the lovely clerk and I were chatting about books and graphic design and whatnot, a book called, “Steal Like An Artist” caught my eye. I felt a tad guilty for making the Amazon mention, so I decided to purchase this little book; I liked the title and it looked like a quick, interesting read.   It’s a GREAT little read about how to stop making excuses and pop open that creativity.  And of course it got me thinking…..

I KNOW I am a Creative-Type but, but, but…..

I have been taking loads of lessons in the past year, and even though my brain is sparky with all sorts of new lessons, I feel a little embarrassed to share most of it.  There’s a part of me that says I should already know how to do these things, so keep it mums, no one wants to know. Well that’s It’s the evil side of our ego, something I learned all to well while doing Julia Cameron’s The Artist Way 12-week creativity program in Mexico this past winter.  I still am doing the morning pages, which is H-A-R-D because a million other things draw my attention when I first awake in the morning. But I have been diligent about this sunrise exercise. Writing free-form morning pages does this lark a world of good to dump the junk out of my head to so it’s easier to focus on my goals.

Now…. what are my goals?

Well, y’see, I know I can do a million different things. I practice them all the time and then keep it to myself.  Phooey, no more. I want to begin to fine-tune some of these skills I am learning.  I want to publicly learn new things, and this magical thing called the internet and my little Lark of a blog will help me achieve this goal.

Tonight I attended a book signing for Steal Like An Artist’s author, Austin Kleon.  He encouraged publicly learning things as a way to bone up our braveness.  I want to bone UP the brave! I get scared but so what! No more.

Tomorrow, June 1, 2014, I start my 30-Day Public Learning Challenge.  There are no rules.

meagburnt_show_it

These are just some of the things I’ve learned in the past year and I’m totally excited to learn more new cool things. Tomorrow I’m going to learn about raising chickens in my front or backyard, I haven’t decided which just yet. I am excited for this cluck-CLUCKKKKKKK! And don’t be chicken again!

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Motherless Day 2014

Charro Ranch swimming hole

Every evening at sunset, I have the extreme fortune to jump into a man-made swimming hole in the middle of a Texas Hill Country ranch and it is completely invigorating and effervescent.  The water is cold, the tadpoles are lively, and the scenery is a-buzz, even sometimes with horses or cows.

I am doing this plunge every day for the month of May to help me get settled in my new house and community. I am really enjoying the land and opportunities to rub elbows with nature.  Lawdy the bugs are big and will only get bigger as the summer heats up, so I hold a respectful appreciation of all the creatures whose path I cross. My recent interlude with a scorpion in the kitchen sink reminded me of where I am and who rules the roost in Texas. Not me.

This weekend is Mother’s Day. Wow that year flew by quickly, as they all tend to do as I get older. Even with all the year’s logistical changes, the lessons of my mom’s death are still at the forefront of my thoughts and play a part in almost every action I take, every decision I make.

One year ago, I was FREEZING as I stood on a super-windy pier, tossing my mom’s ashes into the icy waters of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. The ashes flew all up and around me but eventually found their way back into the water and I watched with tears in my eyes as the smokey ashes swirled away into the water. It was the biting wind that caused my tears on this occasion and honestly, I gave no thought to Juls’ ashes once they were where she had requested; in Wisconsin.

There were conversations that she would have preferred Green Bay, because she was a diehard Packer Fan. I shot that down because I wanted to keep her close to me. I was adamant that I had to keep an eye on her and make sure she was okay; although I had declined to pick up her ashes from the funeral home until this Mother’s Day. I was certain I did not want her in the house with me — but that I needed to keep an eye on her. Strange, perhaps.

My mom and I always loved Lake Geneva, but never for any shared memories, we each had our own reasons. Now that Juls was in the lake, I started visiting on a regular basis to chat with her. I honestly felt better when I would first see the lake because it felt like she was happy, finally. My mom was not a happy woman, especially later in life, but now I believe she was free. It made me smile to think she was swimming around Wisconsin, in the beautiful clear lake, eating pretzels and drinking beer with all the other Packer fans.

When I was 13, I saw the movie JAWS and I wished I hadn’t, who’s with me on that? Once an avid swimmer, I suddenly was terrified of ALL water and honestly avoided every opportunity to swim in anything other than a chlorinated pool for the rest of my days. I don’t like fish and I don’t like seaweed. I don’t swim in Lake Geneva or any other lake, river or ocean for that matter.

Funny thing happened as I started to visit Juls’ in Lake Geneva, soon I found myself climbing into the water. And swimming. With fish. Naked (when I could get away with it!). And often. I would hike around the walking path on the days I could get up to Lake Geneva and jump in where I could. Preferably at sunset.

I took a paddle-board lesson… LOVED IT, then joined a paddle-board club (“tribe”), where we went on weekend outings. I started kayaking and enjoyed this too because I could bring Henry with me. I LOVED being in the water and still do today — even in Texas, where the bugs and fish are BIG and angry!

Me, the one who was horribly uncomfortable in the water now finds comfort in the water.

I recently read “Motherless Daughters” for the first time and although it tends to mostly speak to women who lost their mothers when they were younger, nonetheless I clearly understand it to say that when a woman loses her mother, no matter what age, her life is profoundly and forever changed.

For me, this has meant re-examining EVERYTHING. I did not set out to do this, but in the year and months since mom died, I have become extremely aware of my own mortality and interested in understanding where I came from and how I became the person I am today. There is also an unstoppable force to be a better person.

I like being nice, who knew?

Not only did my mom die in front of me as we held on tight to each other for the first time in our lives, but she apologized. I may have said this before and I will say it for the rest of my life; my mom’s deathbed apology has altered me forever and because of it, I have worked endlessly to change old, tired beliefs that have never served me — nor my treatment of you.

Juls said she was wrong about me. That she wished she had been nicer to me. Was sorry that she didn’t get to know me better.

When she was saying these things, I said, “CUT IT OUT MOM! It’s not like you are dying or something!” I didn’t know what-what. But that’s okay.

My mom’s apology melted a steel cage from around my heart and this has been an indescribable feeling, and one of the most freeing feelings in my life. See “How The Grinch Stole Christmas” for a better description.

I spent my adult life reading self help books, attending workshops, seeing shamans, psychologists, you name it… always digging to discover what was wrong with me and on and on and on…. and never discovering the answers; that anxiousness and restlessness stayed, churning away at me. I kept hearing it was Daddy Issues and sure there were some of those, but nothing will compare to the freedom pill my mom gave me when she acknowledged some of the choices she made in her life — and for this, she was regretful and was sorry.

My life: changed forever.

The year has not been without heartache nor challenges; I am still recovering from the sting of losing a number of jobs, all my stuff and I lost all my stuff, did I mention this?  But at this point, this has become my Badge of Honor. I am finding my way. I found my ex-husband in Mexico and have made amends for the mistakes I made when I was his wife. We are living together in Texas now, peacefully for the most part, and with a much better understanding and appreciation of each other. He has a very big life and it has been a wonderful opportunity to get to know Reed and his world once again; this time with eyes that love and not hate.

Today I jump in the water with the bugs, frogs and bats at every sunset. I walk the fields with my camera and take pictures of cows, flowers, naughty horses and sunsets. I cook healthy meals that sometime include bacon and BBQ and am enjoying learning about native plants and birds. Oh the birds! I never noticed the birds last time I lived in Texas — and now they sing to me everywhere.

This Mother’s Day I am grateful to have a mom who gave me the greatest gift of all; the gift of a new life, a new beginning, a chance to make things right. I am a happy kid again.

Happy :)

Thank you Mom. Go Packers! xoxoxo

mom and me, 3 years ago

 

 

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Deep in the Heart of Mexico

Oficina en Mexico

Buenas Dias from Mexico; I wish I had this office space in Chicago!  But no, this is the house I used to live in, when I was a married woman living in  San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico, with my Texan then-husband, Reed Burns.  It is a glorious gift to be back here after all this time and I am grateful for each day here as I not only do my part to heal this once-rocky relationship, but also take time to explore the things I never made time for when I lived here all those years.

This town is a wild explosion of colors, culture and people and it really is a wonderful haven for artists and those you prefer to live outside the American box.  I first came here 1999 to explore the scene after a friend of mine that I had met during my two months at Escalen came down here to teach yoga.  I was working a big corporate gig for AT&T at the time in Chicago, so I could only visit for five days, but that was enough for me to decide I wanted to spend more time here.  When I returned to Chicago, I focused my time and efforts on taking a two month sabbatical in San Miguel de Allende to teach Gabrielle Roth’s Five Rhythms dance class; a style of dance I had been studying for a few years in Chicago and had taken a two-month workshop at The Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California.  Little did I know this two-month sabbatical would become my life for the next several years.  Still to this day, my heart and thoughts are a part of this magical, colorful town.

I arrived in San Miguel for my sabbatical in June of 2001.  I rented a house with my friend who was teaching yoga and soon after, I began teaching the dance class at Bellas Artes and had such an incredible time; I was living the dream!  About one week later, I met the most crazy and hilarious Mexican named Juan Nieto and decided I didn’t want to go home.  9/11 hit and my fate was decided; I did not want to return to America.

I flew to Chicago in October, flew to New York to see my friend Andrew and to see how he was doing; I even walked as close as I could to Ground  Zero; a very solemn and moving experience. Even now it seems like it was just a dream, to be that close to such massive destruction and radical emptiness.  I’m not sure it was such a great idea to get that close, but what did I know? I still have the cross I bought at one of the only stores that seemed to be open so soon after the attacks.  I returned home to Chicago, put my stuff in a storage unit and off I drove to Mexico all by myself, with my zippy Honda Civic jammed to the gills with what I thought would be important to me in Mexico.

It took me 3.5 days to drive from Chicago to San Miguel.  It was….. in a word…. SCARY.  Crossing the border is scary. Driving through the mountains of Mexico is scary. Stopping at the very few gas stations is SCARY; I even once had to stop at a hand-drawn sign gas station because I was out of gas.  A gaggle of boys walked up to my car and started looking in it as some kids used a funnel to pour gas in my tank; I looked up and said, “please help me get out of here.”  I handed one of the kids some pesos, got in my car, sped off like a BAT OUT OF HELL.

It’s not scary like this anymore to drive though Mexico, but there are different scares; the drug wars and their escalating violence have dumped out into the highways and public venues.  I would not drive through Mexico today but back then I did it about three times by myself.  Never again.  The scariest incident was probably when crossing the border at Laredo, a bunch of guys ambushed my Nissan Pathfinder and dumped black oil on the windshield and then all jumped on my truck to rock it — and they ROCKED it.  I screamed as I peaked through a tiny portion of the windshield and hit the gas.  They eventually jumped off and I drove with the black oil on my windshield for about 20 miles; until I felt I would actually take my foot off the gas pedal and stop to wash the window.  Terrifying. What was I thinking?

The San Miguel de Allende I live in now and over the past few years was very different from my beginning years here.  The relationship with Juan lasted about two years and then I was a starving artist.  Mostly starving. I then met a big laughing Texan who I found sitting in the streets one day, and his name was Reed.  I had no idea who he was or what he was all about, but I immediately loved his kind eyes.

And now here I am visiting him as his ex-wife but one of his closest friends.  My life has changed drastically since we parted ways in Corpus Christi, Texas in 2008; I’ve often wondered who that girl was that was unable to accept happiness in any form. It is only now that it is starting to make sense to me and if possible, I want to make amends for that girl and her short-comings.  I was not a bad person; I was just messed up and unable to be at peace in the world — no matter what I had in front of me.  I believe I always preferred the struggle — but had I been told that, I would have flown off the handle in rebuttal.

This is the most non-crazy I have ever felt in my life — and I like it.  Being back here in San Miguel has given me a chance to make amends and how wonderful is that? I have been punishing myself for years for being a lousy wife and now I can do my part to be a better person to myself and those who love me.  I don’t know that there will be a next time for me to see Reed, so I am making the most of this time here with him, in his home, in San Miguel de Allende.

When I first arrived in November, I celebrated with him and our friends and made a glorious Thanksgiving feast, but soon after I realized this was not who I am anymore, and so I have resumed my search and exploration of the higher vibrational side of life.  Reed looks at me funny now, but I suppose he always has. I am peaceful and enjoy creating a peaceful environment — even in the middle of his outrageous chaos.

I am going to stay a while longer.  It’s 25 degrees in Chicago and 75 degress here in Central Mexico.  I’ve done the math and decided to stay, xoxo.

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All Aboard the WOO-WOO Train!

meagburnt ham

Being your true self is the coolest decision you’ll ever make.  — my yoga teacher, Leslie.

That’s it! I have officially acknowledged myself as a WOO-WOO. I have the sweat and guts and tears to prove it and I couldn’t be more delighted about it!  This is my reality and I have decided to finally embrace it.

I uploaded my first vlog about my past few months and I look forward to adding this medium to the mix, because sometimes words should be spoken. I recently attended a night of storytelling by three seasoned storytellers and it really moved me.  Good ol’fashion spoken stories, like the days before we all stared at tiny electronic screens.  No really, something in my heart jumped, I loved it.  I’m knocking around the idea of trying this artform live on stage — a lost art that appears to be making a comeback and I welcome it.  From wiki:

“Storytelling is the conveying of events in words, and images, often by improvisation or embellishment. Stories or narratives have been shared in every culture as a means of entertainment, education, cultural preservation and instilling moral values.  Crucial elements of stories and storytelling include plot, characters and narrative point of view.”

I also watched a beautifully made documentary, “Mythic Journeys” that looks at the role of mythology and mysticism in modern society and storytelling — very informative and pretty too!

mythic-journeysr

Twenty years ago I embarked on a spiritual quest that took me from Chicago to San Francisco to Europe and back; I learned so many incredible lessons about growing up, relationships, personal responsibility, shamanism, religion, spirituality, the 12 Steps, Gabrielle Roth’s 5 Rhythms, Feldenkrais, Law of Attraction, ETC., so now I am adding on this foundation I started a few decades ago.  I admitantly walked away from all of it for about a decade.  I was frustrated and felt like nothing was working.  This past decade had it’s own lessons and the journey carries on.  How lucky am I that I have this opportunity? Thankyou Universe! xo

I participated in a “Trust Your Vibes” workshop with Sonia Choquette this past weekend and also saw Sonia in London a few months ago.  She is brilliant and her courses require brutal honesty, something I have now become prepared to face.  This is not easy.  I saw Sonia 20 years ago before I moved to San Francisco and I recall only ONE THING she said to me, “I would suggest eating more spicy foods because you are smothering yourself with all your self-imposed rules and your soul wants to live.”  Lord that was true, I was the biggest food nazi around and I’m happy to say that even though the search for healthy foods is a wee challenging, I do allow myself some comfort foods because I no longer think it’s cool to punish myself.

There’s no lying about this; this is no weekend-warrior-self-help-workshop-stuff that allows me to compartmentalize my internal calling for knowledge and compassion, and then allow me to slip back into the comfortably numb mentality, come Monday morning. No Siree Bub, this is all or nothing and as much as it’s kicking my ass, I have officially surrendered to the process, have great trust in the plan and am super-excited about the adventure that lies ahead.

I’ve lost it all and I’m not dead or nor without hope.  I still have a sparkle in my eye ;D

I also respect all the folks who are doing the weekend workshops and whatnot to improve their personal well-being, because I believe my years of participating in those made me ready for the commitment to greater health possible today.  Baby steps.  I applaud them and take them.

In this weekend workshop, I broke through some huuuuge barriers and let my intuition (read: psychic) flag fly high — I loved it and have been told that now that I’m proudly waving it, there’s no going back.  It was brilliant and I saw and learned things I will never forget.  I will write about these experiences some day, as soon as I swallow them all.

The other day I received a “thanks-but-no” letter about a job I believed I was P-E-R-F-E-C-T for, and also heard absolute crickets on another job I was really hoping to hear a good word on.  After a good cry and stomp-about over a slap of rejection, I stood up and said, “FUCK IT, LET’S GO HAVE SOME FUN MEAG.”

I am off to San Miguel de Allende tomorrow to climb the Mexican mountainside, breathe the high altitude air, swim in the healing hot spring waters and cook a turkey dinner with my ex-husband, whom I still adore and am very excited to see.

View of lovely San Miguel de Allende, from the Rosewood Hotel
View of lovely San Miguel de Allende, from the Rosewood Hotel

ANDALE! Happy Thanksgiving, peace to all.  Don’t forget…… I see you!! xoxo

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Gifts of mom’s death; gratitude

love

Since my mom’s death, I’ve come to know gratitude. And LOVE. On an entirely new level. By way of crawling through the murkiness of pain and sorrow.  But there has also been some true moments of happiness.

Am I happy my mom died? No of course not. I’m still completely surprised that I occasionally burst out in tears when a thought about my mom pops in my head. Or I see something. Or smell something.  No one is more surprised by this than me – I honestly thought I was prepared for my mom’s death because she seemed to be sitting around waiting for Mr. Reaper to knock on her door and take her away.  I don’t knock myself for having these outbursts; I’m studied enough to know that grief knows no bounds and we are all wrapped up in grief at some level and no need to resist it, otherwise it festers and rears it’s head in other ways. So I don’t mind the tears. They do surprise me, however.

I’m okay with surprises.

My mom’s death was such a wake-up call and continues to flood my thoughts and dreams with new ideas.  Eight months before my mom duked out her last duke, I was being pulled by forces to change my life, yet I completely resisted at the time.  I even felt damned by what I thought was “happening to me”.  A year later, it’s starting to make sense as I continue to make more changes, because now I’m on a mission and feel compelled to acknowledge that which royally pissed me off a year ago.

I honestly believe I was being yanked by a higher power – angels to be exact – to become a better person; a better version of Meagan, because on so many levels, I was drowning and had given up. I remember saying to myself, “I give up. No really, I’m done.”  That’s pretty clear, eh?

I had no passion and a seriously low low low energetic vibration; I cared very little about what was going on around me – AND I was harboring a truckload of shame for having been fired from some jobs. Holy-moley, who was I if I didn’t have a job I could brag about?  Even if I didn’t have a date, at least I had a job.  I was losing things to be excited about and could feel the sparkle oozing out of my being – and I have always been a sparkly person, so this was heart-breaking for me.  No job, no relationship since my divorce, no money, no home of my own…. Who am I and seriously, what happened?

The entire 2012 year feels like it was in a state of suspension, and looking back, I now understand bit more.  I was being prompted to empty out my life and look ahead.  Look above. Look behind.  Look up.

I fought this. I was angry. Not anymore. I like the view.

In January 2013, my mom needed me. She had not wanted me around for years. But now she had no choice – my twin uncles had recently died (ouch) and my two brothers were in Phoenix. She had no choice but me. I went immediately.

It’s been eight months since she died and I can honestly say this has been the most gut-wrenching time of my life, with mom’s death being the frosting on my cake of gloom, but it has also rocked my soul to the core and I am forever grateful for this HUUUGE wake up call.

I have mentioned it before (and will not in the future), but I had this habit of getting fired from jobs, in addition to quitting a few.  I went my whole life without getting fired (well there was that one office job that I was fired from after the Christmas party, but that’s a story for another day) and then in a matter of about two years, I was fired three times.  I also quit two other jobs.  That’s a boatload of jobs in a very short time, Ladies and Gentlemen!

It was a revolving door of drama and heartache, and I had no idea how to stop the rollercoaster because I was so desperate and ashamed about being fired.  I jumped into action immediately and was able to get a new job wham-bam, but I was not bothering to ask if I was right for the job or if I even wanted to work for this company or with it’s people. I had no time to think about these things, so the universe sorted this out for me. QUICKLY.

“Hello, you’re hired!”
“Hey, you’re fired, there’s the door!”

When I was fired seven weeks ago, I completely slammed on the brakes and decided to take a much needed time out.  I struggle with this because there’s a part of me that feels guilty for not working, but there is a much larger part of me that is completely committed to getting stronger, smarter, healthier and in touch with what I really should be doing.

I am completely grateful I have a spot of time to do my soul searching and a quiet, calm place out in the country.

So many bittersweet gifts since my mom’s death.

I have been marching around my entire life thinking I understood certain things about life and how things had to get done.  I had accepted this mostly, and was quietly and numbly going about life and losing a bit more steam each year.

And then….. and then my mom apologized for being mean to me before she died. Wished she had been nicer to me. Said she was wrong about me. Was so, so, so happy I made spaghetti at her place instead of eating out.

Funny what sticks out.

With this apology, I was knocked flat on my back for a good number of days and to this present day, I am still decoding this newfound vision and my strong, peppy heartbeat that beats vibrantly in my now strong rib cage.

My mom gave me the gift of love and I had no idea I had been living without it. I am enjoying having an invigorated pulse at this stage in life.  I understand now with much greater compassion that my mom lived a loveless life herself and it breaks my heart when I think of it, but she made amends where she could and I am forever grateful.

She was smart. Unburden yourself before you go.

Now I have an opportunity to live with vim, vigor, zest, laughter, curiosity, wonder and passion! All the things that felt natural to me as a kid (let’s be honest, this feels natural to every kid)  and I’m totally embracing it again, like it’s my birthday! (jaja)

birthday

This is the reason I have stepped off the fast-moving train of life to re-examine everything.  I have become softer, more thoughtful, slower and happier.  My laugh has improved. No really, make me laugh and you will see! I prefer being outside in nature and eating lots of healthy greens. I read and write poetry. I read a ton of books. I adore silence. I watch zero tv and avoid all gossip sites. I still read Twitter! Can’t live in outer space ALL THE TIME.  I am taking several classes right now that are helping me feel better. I am s-l-o-w-l-y finding new social circles. I quit drinking and smoking – something the angels were giving me SUCH a hard time about. I couldn’t do these things anymore without feeling like hell on earth, so I happily gave them up. I thought it would be hard. It wasn’t.

The next job I take will be a job that has meaning to me.  Or I will create something myself — this is in the works.  I still don’t have all the answers but these things are true:

I am happier now than I have ever been in my adult life.  I am at peace. I enjoy little things. I am not afraid of the holidays.  Nor the water, or being out in nature. I am not worried about being fired again. I will not go hungry.  I am awesome! I really want to help others.  I am super-super-super excited about the autumn and winter of my life because it has been and will continue to be magical.

Have I mentioned the faeries that have appeared in my life? Yes. The faeries. The angels too! They call me Snow White when I go out in the woods; the birds, the trees, the clouds – they are all talking to me and I love it!

xoxo.

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Energy Balls UP O’Hare!

faeryhouse

So today is the day I head off to London for a week in pursuit of all things sparkly… because I decided months ago I want the autumn and winter of my life to be magical.  It’s only been a few months and it’s almost surreal, the magic I have witnessed.  It’s true, it can happen! A head’s up however; should you too decide you want the remainder of your life to be magical, be prepared for a backlash.  It’s 2013, and a lot of people have completely given up on magic, let alone wanting to begin to believe it may be true for anyone else – some people actually think I am nuts and I do not care.  If being nuts means having a child-like wonder and curiosity for life, then it’s true, I’M NUTS.

I recently discovered Signe Pike‘s awesome book that is loaded in my Kindle called, “Faery Tale: One Woman’s Search for Enchantment in a Modern World” and it has been such a perfect read for me.  This morning when I took Henry to his vacation ranch for the week, this marvelous faery house greeted me at the end of the walk way and I immediately looked around for faeries because it was that ‘tween hour. Nothing but dew drops and an unmade bed! (jaja)  More proof that I don’t have to chase the magic, it is right in front of me if I open my eyes.  My eyes are open and I am awake 8-D

The past few months have been filled with quite an education on both a personal and professional level.  I just ended my participation on a project that had an ongoing opportunity, but I knew it was not a good fit for me, so I gracefully backed out.  I’ve been fired three times in the past year.  I have lived, breathed, sweated and cried rejection.  It hasn’t killed me, made me to go hungry nor homeless, so now I follow my heart and learn about the things that make me happy.  Right now that’s a thing called MAGIC.

Andale let’s go; ENERGY BALLS UP O’HARE!

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Take me to your Leader, but make sure he’s not Nuts!

spiritual awakening, larkabouts, grief, creativity, wellness, meagburnt,

Here’s the thing: tell someone you believe in UFOs and that’s perfectly acceptable.  It’s out there, it’s controversial, it’s vague, it’s elusive, it’s relative, it has hard evidential proof, it has changed some people’s lives forever, it’s got a slew of groupies…. and it’s perfectly acceptable to most if this is what your floats your boat and what you want to devote your personal time to.

But mention you’re having a “spiritual awakening” and people may give you the side-eye and back away slowly.  Because that’s crazy — or I’m crazy because I am starting to see and feel some results (wow that’s a lousy word to use in the context of spiritual awakening!) of all the personal work I have been doing.  The meditation.  The yoga. The breathing. The walking. The reading. The energy experiments. The changing of my diet. The re-routing of my normal thinking patterns (Lordy this is HAAAAARD).  And the silence.  Ohhh the loads of silence I have come to adore and require now, just as I require air to breath.

Silence

Why is it that an actual spiritual awakening is somewhat mistrusted?  I’ve seen eyebrows go up and felt the proverbial, “ah boy, we lost her.” sentiment because I’ve mentioned, in my joyous exaltation, that my beginner’s mind is starting to see and feel some magical new ways of thinking — and I could NOT be more thrilled about this.  These ways of existing in the world have always been available to me, just as they are to you, but I am discovering for the first time because I am practicing new principles. And I became ready. But it’s not perfect nor pain-free! Ahh but it IS perfect for right now.

This reaction… well it’s ironic if you ask me, because many people strive for a more spiritual way of being; in their personal relationships, in their careers, in their every level of life — because it’s cool, and I completley agree.  Twitter is rampant with quotes and retweets of our spiritual leaders and beyond — because it IS COOL to talk about being spiritual.  It’s not cool to be religious; but spiritual is awesome — because religious is crazy, right?  And don’t even think about getting crazy about being spiritual, because that’s just nuts!!

Although when it arrives — if it arrives, it may perhaps change the way you tweet, change the way you participate in the world, rock the very core of your foundation, make you burst out in tears for no other reason except that the love thumping in your veins can’t be contained; it may force you to spontaneously hug people and trees, walk around on your hands at the beach and then blow your head up right off your shoulders.

Sunrise Yoga

This is what I have been experiencing lately.  And I like it. Except the bit about my head blowing up. That has not happened. Yet.

I spent my late twenties and early thirties searching for a spiritual awakening and never found it, much to my chagrin. I worked with shamans, I became a diligent student of religious science, I participated in drumming circles, had soul retrievals, spent countless hours on a therapist’s couch — because I was convinced that something was wrong with me and that a spiritual awakening would be my way out of it.

But it has occurred to me: I don’t want to read the biography of a person who has not lived a full life; where they’ve not crawled through their own personal never-ending hell and survived, not celebrated to excess and beyond when success was achieved — and survived; and everything in between. Perhaps no one is allowed to have a spiritual awakening until life has been lived in all corners of darkness and light.  I don’t think I’m anywhere near my end, nor sampled all corners, but I have done my fair sharing of crawling and celebrating. Perhaps not in that order.

I sat with my mom when she died and was with my two twin uncles when they died — separately — as well; all within the past recent years.  I saw things happen to them as they were “transitioning”.  I had emotional conversations with each of them that seared my core; my mom knocked me out of the park with her parting words for a couple of weeks.  I saw “someone” come get them, “be” with each of them and even shine a light on my mom’s face when there was no light. I absolutely HAD to change the way I participated in my world because of these experiences.  It was very different for each of them — I can only sum it up by saying their spirit was delivered by whom it should have been delivered. errrr something like that!

My Three Holy Ghosts:

My Three Holy Ghosts

I have also been fired from three jobs in the past year as well — I even quit one job, so these past few years have completely made my head spin round and round and round. And cry and cry. Although I shed no tears for this last job — I was on my way, so the feeling was mutual.

I’m currently living in Woodstock, Illinois (although I watch the sunset in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin when I can) and I have honestly made peace with this town that I once despised, and even thanked Mayor Brian Sager for a job well done last week.  I met him at Woodstock’s festival nod to Broadway; he and his administration have really opened up theater options in Woodstock, as well as welcoming more new businesses in town. The day was much like a day right out of the pages of “Waiting for Guffman.” and I was tickled! I no longer have angst for this little town and have honestly enjoyed my time here.  The aforementioned silence can be found in this town, as well as in the surrounding area towns I once hated while growing up, but ahhhh no longer 🙂

Mayor Woodstock

I was hoping to leave Woodstock now that I have made peace with it, but with the recent lose of yet another job, I find I must stay put a while longer.  Apparently I have not yet learned what I have come here to learn in my little hometown neck of the nape, and OY please don’t make it last forever!  Because I hear the call of the West.

I recently stumbled upon this video and it stopped me cold in my tracks because….. well because I have experienced ALL of these things in the past few weeks — and I’ll be honest, it’s a bit scary at times.  Somedays I have no idea who I am and where I’m headed, but I have faith. I have faith!

… so ask me if I have any idea who I am right now.

And I will say I AM MEAGAN BURNS!! My eyes are open and I love it! These experiences with death have showed me a beautiful side of life, even if I can’t stop getting fired! I have never felt more sane in my life…

meagburnt sept 13

I feel tremendous gratitude for all the people that have helped me through these past few months and I keep meeting more and more of these kindred souls; I am excited to learn more through them and with them.  Below is a list of a few of the books that have also helped me through some of these issues, but don’t forget about being silly and laughing!  Because really, why else keep plugging along if you can’t laugh about it? xoxo

Kris Carr’s Crazy Sexy Diet
Marianne Williamson: A Return to Love
Marianne Williamson: The Law of Divine Compensation: On Work, Money and Miracles
Cheryle Strayed: WILD
Doreen Virtue’s Angel Therapy
Denise Linn: Soul Coaching
Gerry Gavin: Messages from Margaret
Sabrina Reber: How to Raise Your Vibration
Caroline Shearer: Raise Your Vibration: Tips and Tools for a High-Frequency Life
Dr. Christiane Northup: Lightening the Mother Load: Healing Strategies for Daughters
Dr. Steven D. Farmer: Animal Spirit Guides (I AM A TIGER RAWWWWWRRRRR)
Pam Grout: E-Squared: Nine Do-It-Yourself Energy Experiments