Category Archives: inspiration

Aug6

a new religion called NOPE

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“STOP letting your mental health be damaged by systems that were never designed to protect it!” – Sheila Hammond

If someone asks you if you’ve heard the latest news, and you think, “Dear God, please let it be aliens,” you are not broken. Sheila Hammond has made the YouTube channel I wish I’d thought of. She is funny, and she is tellin’ it like it is! She’s done offering her sanity to systems that profit off her exhaustion. Amen, sister. Amen.

You can care about the world and you can set boundaries. You can opt out of chaos without opting out of your values. You can disengage without being in denial. You can scream into the void…and log off for a nap. Personally, I am done with risking participation in anything likely to jerk me around emotionally. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

In recent posts I have written about losing friends and family members because I won’t attend the protest march (what you resist persists) or join the group or contribute to the cause or watch the news. Don’t get me wrong, I respect them immeasurably. Their heart is in the right place. If I feel compelled to do so, I do know how. As far as I know I still have an FBI record from being arrested in the protests in Detroit during the 60’s and 70’s. Meanwhile that isn’t how I’m most effective. That does not mean I am sitting here doing nothing – but it is amazing the changes you can implement silently from your sofa once you get focused.

It’s scary at first to realize your personal power. However, you have to pull your spirit back into your body and listen. In order to overcome the addiction of culture you have learn to stop the performance art you called life for the past decades, otherwise you won’t know your authentic voice when it speaks. And it does. I hope you’ll join the me in the religion of NOPE. Because as Sheila says, sanity is trying to stage a comeback.

“I command my spirit into my body in full at this time.” – Carolyn Myss, Anatomy of the Spirit

May I suggest we nurture a song worm today:

Aug5

“I mean…where do I start?”

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Rabbit Hole Alert. Ohhhh….boy. If you’ve been here at the blog for long, you may remember how obsessed I was a few years ago with the BBC series called The Detectorists. I’ll still aver that it was one of the all-time best ever television series. Then, just yesterday I discovered The Lost Words. Low and behold, the artists of both have worked together. No surprises there. Remember, ultimately it will be the artists who save us.

This beautiful series explores the tender world of the autistic genius, of how sweet friendships are, and how difficult romance (or any form of emotional intimacy) for those who hang by a thread on society’s hem…it’s about paying attention and persistence and most of all it’s about dreaming.

Renowned actor Rachel Stirling apparently petitioned her friend Mackenzie Crook for the role of his wife as she wanted to participate in the series. And when her mother, Dame Diana Rigg, heard about the series she asked to be in it. So she plays the part of Rachel Stirling’s (Becky’s) mother. Between the 2nd and 3rd seasons Dame Diana Rigg sadly died. So Mackenzie Crook re-wrote Season 3 to include her character’s death. The talent that gathered to participate in this series brings so much for our enjoyment, not the least of which was Johnny Flynn writing the musical score. You’ll laugh and cry, but you’ll never feel the same about these goofy characters or the nerdy brainiacs they represent. My own autistic genius child went right out and bought himself a metal detector after watching this! It reminds us that the ordinary and invisible in our culture are precious beyond measure. It is a gem.

Aug4

sing your heart to all dark matter

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“Now I become myself. It’s taken time, many years and places…” – May Sarton

Let’s face it, I have far fewer years left than I have already lived. That isn’t what makes me sad. What makes me sad is that I feel like I’m just getting started. Late, I’m just starting to get the hang of this life thing. And my hungry heart wants more.

Part of my infinite wonder and curiosity is an ongoing fascination with words and language. Maybe everyone else knew this, but I just discovered that every year the Oxford Dictionary drops words no longer used regularly in the cultural vocabulary. It adds new ones, too. So I’ve begun researching this. And I would just like to say that I unequivocally do not like what I see.

For instance, in 2024 some of the words dropped from the Junior Dictionary were acorn, heron, fern, kingfisher, otter, wren and willow. They were replaced with the new vernacular: blog, broadband, bullet-point and voicemail. I am LITERALLY lost for words. I vote for the inclusion of the cultural slang phrase WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! Seriously. What is wrong with us?

The summer has been nothing short of surreal. Where are the birds? I used to have so many here, and yes, I have stopped feeding them thistle. Bird feeders convenient to my door bring mice and deer, bear, many smaller predators, and they all carry the tiny, deadly tick – which admittedly I am afraid of. I’m not going to wander afield to fill feeders. But I have natural thistle and honeysuckle and quince and all manner of flower and fauna. I do sincerely hope that my behavioral change is the only reason for the birds’ noticeable absence. Meanwhile, smoke fills the sky. You can see sunlight on the trees and shrubs, but when you look up the sky is flat grey. The air quality alert remains dangerously high for “sensitive groups.” Aren’t all creatures of nature sensitive? Hey Lord, there are too many canaries in this coal mine.

I’ve been saying for a couple of decades now that it will be the artists who save us. Let’s also face this: they’re our only hope. This group certainly bolsters that argument – The Lost Words used the words dropped from the dictionary to write a song, a blessing spell for us, and put it to music.

“EVEN AS THE HOUR GROWS BLEAKER, BE THE SINGER AND THE SPEAKER…” – The Lost Words

Aug3

one way only

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Success! My rain spell worked. Which is to say, I left my laundry hanging out on the line all night. Never underestimate me.

A beautiful friend came to visit yesterday afternoon. I was a bit verklempt. I almost cancelled, but I really wanted to see her. It’s been too long. The overwhelm was only because it came at the end of an insanely busy week. By insanely busy I mean 2 things: 1) I had at least one activity scheduled every day, and 2) I never got a nap all week. I usually nap every afternoon.

As it happened this past week I had 2 medical appointments scheduled which had been weeks on the calendar, and I had to cancel them for more pressing medical issues which required immediate attention. I also had to cancel lunch with my friend on Tuesday as I couldn’t drive to meet her. She was concerned about me and drove the hour out to my house on Saturday.

My house is very purposely located on a spit of land that elbows out into Lake Michigan, affectionately referred to by locals as The Land of Oz. I say purposely because I moved here precisely because it is a destination of some determination, ie; not on the way to anywhere. Nobody just drops in. I detest dropper-inners.

When I moved out here on this precipice of life and beauty I had to drive to the post office for my mail. They didn’t deliver mail here just outside the village limits. Yes, that was 2018. I had to join with 3 neighbors and petition the post office for mail delivery, clear and level a path next to the road and install mail boxes. We get mail delivery now, but not necessarily daily. They will deliver your mail when they darn well get around to it. It’s a privilege, and don’t you forget it. I do appreciate it. I know they are short staffed, and I appreciate having a local post office. Many villages around here do not.

Friday I received a new deck of tarot cards in the mail, so I opened them after lunch with my friend. We sat on my very long, deep sofa (a.k.a. Mom’s Cosmic Healing Sofa) and shuffled, talking, laughing and kvetching…and we each drew a card, which took our mundane conversation in a deeper direction.

One of my many withdrawals in recent years has been from the practice of reading and channeling professionally. Because, well, people. Most people don’t really want to be challenged to grow, to face their shadow, to look at the habits no longer serving them. They don’t want to sit in the present moment until the tears come. It isn’t comfortable. It is, however, priceless. The tarot is so beautifully designed for exactly this work, and I cannot use it otherwise. I mean, sure, you can use it to access any information you want to know. I can astral travel anywhere and spy on anyone. I won’t. I can psychically answer all your questions. I won’t. Those are parlor tricks. As Geraldine Jones would say, “that is not my job!”

During her visit, we talked about my friend’s daughter-in-law, who has also been living with chronic Lyme disease. She is much younger than I and has suffered far worse for much longer. We spoke about healing, but my compassionate friend asked about how I deal with pain and not being able to function some days. I told her it has been my greatest teacher. When I am ill (sometimes on the bathroom floor at 3 a.m.) I pray. It’s the only help. I pray with each breath. All I say is: “Thank you.”

Thank you for this body. Thank you for this pain in my liver. Thank you for my life. Thank you for my home, for this bed, for this sweet feline companion, for my beautiful son. Thank you for my big, violent, fu#ked up family – and for the fight in them. Thank you for friends, long-standing and patient, brand new and welcoming. Thank you…for the purpose this illness serves though I do not understand it. Thank you.

Thank you…”so that I can have this one way, along with every other way, to know that I am here.”

Jul11

the world is made of spider webs

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“When I’m an old lady I want to be one of those women that has a house full of plants, weird rocks and crystals. That just looks after her animals, paints and minds her own business with her crazy hair.” – unk

Well I don’t know who said that, but I am that woman now! It’s the second week of July already. I’m getting around to spring cleaning. Better late than never I suppose. For starters, it’s been a little-shop-of-horrors-like around here for a couple of years now. I seem to have a green thumb (I am an old witch, after all.)
I take home little forlorn plants from the grocery store clearance for $3. and two years later there is nowhere to sit in the same room. One small monstera I brought home (it had tipped over and lost half it’s dirt) is now eight feet wide and ten feet high. Seven years ago I bought a foot-high Norfolk Island Pine (indoor only in my climate) to use as a tiny Christmas tree and it’s almost hitting the ceiling now. My son helped me move the plants out to the back deck the other day. They aren’t coming back in. I need to find homes for them. Removing them has opened up every room and it feels so spacious in here I could dance. No really – I could actually dance in here.

This is a small house. Originally built as a summer cottage by a University of Michigan professor, the idiot I bought it from tore out most of it’s original features and knocked out walls to create an open floor plan. If you don’t know how I feel about that you might read some of my older posts. Suffice it to say that open floor plans are an abomination of the human spirit. They suck the dignity out of relationships by unnaturally forcing everyone in the household to share the same noises and smells. It feels like living inside a shoe box. Open floors plans are for worms…just sayin’…

But I live in an open floor plan, because, well, it was the right house in the right place. The plants apparently like this arrangement. They have taken over, spreading from the studio to the kitchen and the living area to the dining area. And down the stairs and across the ceiling. This ends now. I’m taking back my home! I love nature, and I will always have a few plants. But this has become ridiculous. I’m ducking and penguin-ing myself around them.

For my next trick, I’m deep cleaning all those creepy corners I haven’t been able to reach or crawl into. Getting all the spider webs and tumbleweeds of cat hair out. Eeeeewwwwww…and I have taken down the curtains and washed them. Everything has sticky dust. And I wonder why I’m so sick all the time?! Twelve loads of laundry later and the place is looking like new.

So here’s the thing. I’ve read a bazillion books on decluttering and feng shui-ing your space back into order. Psychology journals about how decluttering helps your mental health. And I’ve always done it throughout the years…in little increments. It has never felt like this. Maybe because I’ve been ill? It’s true that I’ve never let my home get this dirty and cluttered before. But something about this is coinciding with a huge shift in awareness.

A few months ago I participated in a Beta test group for a program designed to help older women traversing life changes. I’ve mentioned it here briefly, and I will provide a link for you at the bottom of this post. It’s called the Wayfinding Road. I don’t know what any of us were expecting, but this process with this group of remarkable women has been beyond helpful. The small group I was working with included a recent widow, a woman retiring and moving across the country, a woman whose husband was ill, one who had left the country and relocated to Europe, one who is a political refugee in exile. All manner of circumstances – one uncompromising commitment: a life of continued growth. We quickly realized we had much in common despite a wide variety of life experiences. Soon after the 6 week program began I started having dreams with these women in them. And my dreams were fantastic, adventurous and profoundly healing. I was wealthy beyond measure. Something supernatural was happening. We discovered we were all having experiences we could not explain. We started calling it “magic” for lack of a better explanation.

I have never met any one of these women in person. I have interacted with them only online and via email. If one of them called tomorrow and said “I need your help,” I’d be on a plane. They taught me how to love myself. I’m done with depression and shame and guilt. They taught me how to stop performing my life and begin to live it, deeply. They are well educated, articulate. Some of them speak more than one or two languages. They are all extraordinary. The 2nd time we met I confessed to feeling unworthy of their friendship – but I knew I had 2 choices: drop out or show up. I showed up and they lifted me higher.

I hear them talking to me in meditation, telling me precisely what action to take to heal myself. This morning’s meditation told me that my chronic pain and illness serves only to remind me that I took on the responsibility for my family, and that it is long past time to let them go. Not only can I not be responsible for them, but this addiction to saving them is not helping anyone. I gave it up today and got out of bed pain free.

My life has begun to change now in the last few months. Not in any way I had planned. It’s still going on; it’s a process. I don’t know what this means or where it will lead me. Watch this space. But wow…change is afoot.

Lynnelle Wilson is the creator of Wayfinding Road. Contact her through YouTube or Substack:

Jul8

…forget something?

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As it happened, my phone that is way smarter than me created a “video memory” all by itself, and sent it to me this morning. It was titled “Arizona and Illinois.” It was a short video account of the road trip I took this spring, a few short months ago. A good friend was moving back from Arizona to Michigan, and I had offered to “help.” In retrospect, I don’t think I was much help, but we did make the move. I flew out 2 days before the movers were scheduled. We finished the little bit of last minute packing. And when the movers pulled away we got into her car and left Tucson for Traverse City.

Two seventy-something single women driving across the country in a white SUV…what could possibly go wrong?! Haaaaa…actually, everything went quite well. We had to drive through the northern Arizona mountains in a blizzard…but other than that…She was driving when we hit the blizzard, so she drove us right through it. I’ve always said that if you can drive in Michigan winters you can drive in anything. Well, that, and learning to drive in Detroit in the 1960’s. Believe me – I can drive anything anywhere. But I digress…

A few things struck me about this phone-created photo montage. The first thing I noticed was my face looked weird. My face has been looking weird for awhile. Pinched is how I would describe it; almost a grimace. Puffy. Swollen and pinched – as if I were in pain. Because guess what?

You know, your body adjusts to pain. It does it’s very best to compensate and keep you upright. And you think you’re dealing with it when you aren’t. I don’t look like myself in those photos. I was in pain. I was also sick. I had motion sickness on the airplane on the way out to Tucson. That came on suddenly and completely shocked me. I’ve traveled all my life on boats and planes and I’ve never had motion sickness. I love flying.

Once on the ground I seemed fine, but I wasn’t really. I was just distracted; there was a job to be done. I am sure I was moving slow and I know I took a lot of breaks, hence my thought that I could not have really been much help. But we managed.

We had to push through the blizzard in the mountains and so decided to spend a couple of nights in Santa Fe and decompress, maybe get some rest. I love Santa Fe, but I seemed to have been adversely affected by the altitude on this visit. It was my birthday that weekend and I was being treated to dinner at Coyote Cafe. But I had to return to the hotel room immediately afterward and crash. Not only was I not much help, but now I was also not much fun. There is a possibility that I was actually a royal pain the butt. It’s been known to happen.

Fast forward almost 3 months and it hits me: I was going to use that trip as a jump start to my new-found health and creative life. Oops. I seem to have forgotten that. The slide show also reminded me of a piece of art I saw in Santa Fe that I intended to come home and use as inspiration for a painting of my own. What is Santa Fe for if not inspiration?! I forgot it altogether.

It would seem that I quickly forgot all the changes I wanted to make upon my return home. I slipped right back into my clunky old life, my poor health habits, and my outdated ways of thinking. But I know better. The old ways haven’t worked for a long, long time. And hence yesterday’s post about basic self care. Self care isn’t indulgent. Without it I have nothing to share; I can’t even show up as the friend I want to be.

Jul7

walkin’ my talk…

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For some odd reason, this July 4th holiday has been a wakeup call for me. It isn’t that I didn’t know that it’s the middle of the summer…and sorta the middle of the year…but this year it hit me hard: it’s half over! I’ve never made resolutions at the beginning of a year, but I did have some ideas of how I wanted to make changes in my life. I do have goals for myself, not the least of which is improved health.

My health has not improved. It had been a struggle. I wake most days in quite a bit of pain. Headache, nausea, stiffness and pain in my back and hips primarily. But it moves around. It seems to “settle” in the joints I slept on. I’ve been referred now to a rheumatologist. But there are things I can – and will – do to help myself naturally. Some of them are as simple as getting into a warm shower immediately upon waking. Well, after feeding the cat, of course. It actually helps a lot. But I had gotten out of this habit, drinking coffee and checking emails and watching YouTube videos instead. And putting off a shower until after I had done housework or yard work. And taken some Tylenol. Tylenol is not a good habit.

It isn’t working. Let me rephrase that: I am not working. My body is not cooperating with my plans and my commitment to said plans gets delayed…and delayed. My life is on hold until I feel better. Insert rolling eye emoji here…

Pain is a formidable opponent. So is depression. And they often hang out in the same circles. It’s time for some new companions. Like determination and curiosity…and hope. Where to start when you really just want to go back to bed? Start small. But start. Change a habit, maybe two. Return to the basics of self care. As much as I hate to admit it, I have to go right back to basic basics. I have no long term practice of self care. In fact, I’ve had to figure out what that buzzword even means. I was never taught.

So, I will get right up and into a warm shower every morning. Then I will make my bed. I will drink a glass of water before coffee. In fact, one big change is leaving out the cream and drinking my coffee black. It sucks all the joy out of life, but I can do it for a time. If I don’t put milk in my coffee, it is easy to give up dairy. That comes with some dietary changes, again small, but significant. I’ve pretty much given up sugar already and cut way back on carbs. I don’t buy bread anymore; I do eat some gluten-free pasta.

I’ve been writing intermittently. Waiting for inspiration to strike; it isn’t coming. I will go back to writing daily. Daily. Morning pages for starters. I know this works. WHY don’t I do what I know works??!!!! And then, we WALK. Julia Cameron stresses it constantly. Christ, she’s written books about it. Just fu*#ing WALK already! I had an ah-ha this morning as I headed out the back door – I feel guilty about going for a walk, as though it’s self-indulgent if I’m leaving behind housework and a messy yard. That’s where my energy should go. And there I go, shoulding on myself. There is NOTHING self-indulgent about going for a walk. It’s basic self care.

Jun5

…and smoke.

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Petrichor and lilacs…and smoke. The rain let up yesterday evening, and today we have had to close up the house. Despite delightfully cool temperatures, the air is thick with the smoke from the Canadian wildfires. I have gone from loving the smell of the rain and blooming lilacs to an air quality advisory. Now the weather report includes the “smoke map.” The stars are no longer visible in the night sky.

“Sensitive groups, such as those with respiratory issues, are advised to take precautions.” Like what?! Stop breathing?! Suddenly (or not) the world has become a scary place. I don’t say that lightly; it is not lost on me that it long has been for many people. Let alone nature. God help us.

It is five a.m. as I write this. Later this morning my air conditioners will be installed and run – not to cool the house (the current outside temperature is fifty degrees) – but to filter the air. Many people here live without air conditioning as it isn’t frequently needed. Or, I should say, wasn’t. Again, the privilege not being lost on me. It’s the wildlife I’m most concerned with. Especially the birds. Especially the migrating birds, heading north this time of year to summer in Canada. Where do they go now? I fear that I sound ridiculously naive, and perhaps I am…perhaps I am…

And so, fear triggers in me a reminder to pull back. Pull my energy back into my body and focus on the present moment. Remember that each breath is a sacred gift. If again I sound naive, so be it. I am reminded by Tiokisin Ghosthorse that it is not so much my lungs that I should be concerned with. It’s my heart. My heart hurts.

May12

treat the world like a scavenger hunt

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“God is in the details.” – Mies van der Rohe

Our creativity got hijacked. I would maybe say that differently: mine got kidnapped and held for ransom. However, I am ever more reminded how it does not go away; it lies quietly dormant waiting to be joyously and exuberantly remembered. Treat the world – LIFE – like a scavenger hunt. Because it is.

Susan’s Scavenger Hunt for you today: find these 5 things: 1) something you are proud of, 2) something you would happily do again, 3) five consecutive minutes of peaceful thought, 4) a stream of light where you didn’t expect it, and 5) a gentle sound from nearby.

AND, one extra: find the color of your eyes in something today.

May10

and I just ain’t got the time

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“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song.” – Maya Angelou

Recently I wrote that my mojo was missing like Car 54…and then I wrote nothing for weeks. I had nothing. Crickets. Where does it go, the muse, the inspiration, the energy…life? In the barometer of my body it feels to have dropped…way down deep inside. And it feels like death. Well, not that I know what death feels like, although I’ve been close a few times. But it feels something has stopped breathing. It’s hibernating. It can’t be prodded or cajoled to surface; I have to wait until it – she – crawls out from under the covers. It’s always tentative at first. Shy. Vulnerable. Immature.

Music is often the ladder I climb out of that dark womb back to the misty surface of the early morning light. Many years ago a friend told me I have a musical heart, and I think I always have. I come from a family of musicians. I don’t seem to have any talent there, but I often dream in song.

The first time I heard Stevie Winwood’s haunting voice my soul recognized a fellow spirit. That’s what good art does. It wakes something hiding deep inside. How many times did I experience Stevie Winwood in concert? Spencer Davis Group, Blind Faith (at the Grande Ballroom?) Traffic at Joe Louis Arena – The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys tour in 1972 (the year I graduated high school.) I went to hear him. Not Eric Clapton, or Ginger Baker.

Sing to me, Stevie. I’m all alone in this cage, and somebody holds the key…