All posts by Betsy Chasse

About Betsy Chasse

Betsy Chasse is a filmmaker, author, speaker, and mother best known as the co-creator behind the film What the Bleep Do We Know?! Chasse is a featured blogger on IntentBlog.com. Huffington Post and Modern Mom. She has been a featured columnist for multiple magazines and online sites most-recently Select magazine, Common Ground, and Yahoo! Shine. She has written three books, most recently Tipping Sacred Cows. Find out more about her at www.betsychasse.net

Be careful what you wish for!

tree

It was just before Christmas in 2006 and my daughter, Elora, had fully realized the meaning of this holiday. The stockings were hung by the chimney with the care (Kind of, I mean she was 3), the tree was up and we were ready for Santa to bring us all our dreams wrapped in shiny sparkly paper with big splendid bows.

Elora had made her list, filled with dolls and Disney princesses and this Mrs. Clause was ready! So when I arrived to pick her up after spending the afternoon with Grandma making Christmas cookies, her newest addition to her wish list was quite a surprise. I had barely made it across the threshold when she blurted out “I want a baby brother for Christmas!” Continue reading

The space between knowledge and wisdom

 

blank-page

Hello blank page. Here we are again, you and I. You waiting in anticipation for me to tap tap tap and play a melody of words upon your page.  A series of letters, strung together that when read inspire the mind to dream, to think and to grow. It’s been so long I too began to wonder if I could ever write anything worth sharing again. Words and thoughts worthy of those three powerful words, dream, think and grow. Who am I to think anything I have to say could conjure such things in another human being when I couldn’t even muster them in myself.

Continue reading

Tipping The Ultimate Sacred Cow

1150278_693894280675053_1228448092_nIt seems at every turn, every careful step I take in this pasture of life I find a sacred cow. Sacred cows about love, sacred cows about spirituality, sacred cows about the world I live in and sometimes they tip easily and sometimes…well have you ever tried to tip a sacred cow, geez!  Some of those babies really dig in!

Of course they do, those cows represent our story, they’re our past and we hold on tight to those milkers, we go all Cattle Kate and corral those lovely bovines into our little pasture and lock ‘em up, all safe and sound. Every once in a while a thought pops into our pasture, a little voice of reason who asks “do I really like this cow “ and tries to set free the lovely Bessie and we go running off to lasso that beauty up, lest we loose ourselves, lest we forget how hard it was to raise that calf to the full grown sacred cow it has become. And when it’s safe back in our pasture we look it in the eye, that belief about who we are and well tell it never to leave us again. Because even if we know deep inside it’s just a belief, it’s just a lie we’re telling ourselves, it’s our lie, it’s our story and be damned if we’re going to let it go.

That’s what we do, we protect our sacred cows with our life, so much so that we often end up living a life we don’t really want, a life that doesn’t match us. We end up matching it. I mean I never really wanted to be a Cattle rancher, yet there I was sitting on my porch, shotgun in hand ready to shoot anyone or anything that dares separate me from my most precious of sacred cows, my past. The story that gives me my “I AM”.

Until one day, I saw myself alone, well except for my cows and I finally could smell the caked up cow manure on my boots and I couldn’t take it anymore. It reeked, my life reeked and I gagged and I struggled to breath and could barely move my feet under the weight of so much shit piled up around me and I ran full speed towards the gate of my pasture and I opened it and one by one began to set my cows free. It’s an ongoing process, I had collected a lot of cows.

As the pasture has become a lot less crowded, I found a little clarity and shared my past, my cows, how I collected them and how I began to set them free in a book called TIPPING SACRED COWS, which was released this January. And boy was that sacred cow a biggie!  To openly expose my most hidden cows . To be vulnerable to judgment, to ridicule and to be found out, that maybe I wasn’t the all-knowing girl I pretended to be, to tell my story of my past once and for all. There it is, in print and now I don’t feel the need to hold onto it so tightly, it doesn’t even feel like it is anymore, it was and now it’s not.

For the last few months I have been traveling about doing readings and events around my book and as I read the words written they almost feel foreign to me. I want to reach into those pages and hug that girl and tell her it’s all going to be alright, but she knows that.

On one of my adventures recently I was gifted with an amazing evening under the stars with a magnificent fireplace and as I sat with a delicious glass of wine, in the arms of a most wonderful man, seemingly so far away from the past I once held so dear, I gazed deeply into the flames, it burned so hot the tips were blue and in them I could only see my future. I felt such love, love I hadn’t felt in so long, oh and not just because I was with a hot guy (oh and I was), but that love that is so often talked about, but never quite attained. It was there all around me and within me. I felt a strong urge to say goodbye, to say thank you to my cows, the ones that I had set free, to wish my past one final farewell, so I did and into the fire I threw my book, the one I had cried over while writing, the one that held the story I told myself for long, the one that had given me the map of the way out, that book. I sat there as it burned slowly, watching the flames eat away each page. I saw little embers escape from the chimney and disappear into the night.  And as it became nothing but ashes I felt overwhelmed with joy, because within those ashes I saw me I was to become.

It’s Time For A Revolution – Science and Mysticism

It’s time for a revolution!

Science does not need mysticism and mysticism does not need science; but man needs both” 

-Fritof Capra

god-and-scienceDo we need both? Sometimes I feel like those two camps are as diametrically opposed as the Democrats and the Republicans. Is it time for a revolution?

As I travel the country doing book signings and talks people seem pretty pleased to hear me say it’s time for a revolution in science and the new age/self help paradigm.

When I hear a new ager or a scientist say, “I wish they’d wake up” I usually say right back, “You know what, they are saying the same thing about you!”

As if any of us are really awake, and who gets to decide who’s awake and who isn’t? I’m beginning to think this whole “awake” thing is really a perspective and it ultimately depends on who’s doing the talking.  What is awake? What does it mean to “be conscious?” Everybody seems to have an opinion on this, and often they think theirs is the “right” one.

One of my favorite sentences is when someone says to me, “I am going to give you MY TRUTH” Oh boy, hold on folks, duck if you can because here comes a whole bunch of opinion and projections flying at your face like shit hitting a fan. I admit I’ve said it, recently in fact, which is why I am now thinking about this whole concept of truth, right and wrong, knowing, awake or asleep, conscious or unconscious.

Because the truth (ha!) is, I for one am bored with the old paradigm. The one where we all act like we know anything, we utter words like “unconditional love” and talk endlessly about the light being the place to be, and my favorite “It’s all an illusion.” Yea, explain that to my five-year-old when he’s got a scrape the size of Texas across his bum from skidding off his skateboard. That is no illusion, at least not to him; that shit burns, like for real.

This whole idea that life is an illusion is a fraud, I tell you, a fraud. While scientists are arguing about where consciousness lies, and while the new agers are meditating on their crystal imbedded cushions having out of body experiences, I am living this illusion and so are a lot of people.

And from what I am hearing (and I freely admit this may just be me creating my reality in which everyone agrees with me…hell, who isn’t?) is that people are pretty tired of being fed the old party line that everything is an illusion, or a series of ones and zeros that there is an us and a them (awake and asleep).

People want real, people want to know how to live in this life and not the next one.

People are over science, at least materialistic science; you know the one that says everything can be predicted with a math equation? Statistics show most humans are very much aware that something greater is afoot and they really don’t need science to tell them that.  And at the same time, they are pretty much over all the new age propaganda that a strategically placed crystal will solve all of your problems. At this point, most of us have pretty much figured out that there is no guy in the sky ready to blast us to burn in hell for all eternity for whatever wrongs we did in our 20’s (because seriously, who didn’t sin in their 20’s?). And one of my biggest pet peeves is that guru on the stage who smiles like a Cheshire cat and extols the wisdom of love and light after just having berated there assistant for not having their organic, fair trade whatever hot or cold enough. In short, we are tired of the hypocrisy, both living it and hearing it.

It’s time to get real, like really, authentic, the sometimes messy, sometimes ugly, real in this reality, real. It’s time to get conscious of what we are doing and being in the here and now.  And most of us, I for one, did not know how to do that. I did not understand how my body and my brain worked. Consciousness was just a fancy word I used to sound like I was, conscious that is, when in fact I wasn’t. It was much more fun to meditate and leave my body and float about in the void (Or more likely just taka a nap). It was much easier to slap a crystal on it or make a vision board and it was a whole lot easier to just blame it all on the whacky world of quantum physics.

And to me, all of those are just excuses to escape. There is this tendency to make the body bad, to make the mind bad. We spend an awful lot of time making the human experience out to be the bad guy, something to run from, when maybe what we ought to be doing is figuring it out.

And to do that I think the first step is to become integrated to our whole selves.  To truly become conscious. To be conscious means to be aware, and to me, to be present in the moment. How can I become conscious of alternate realities if I am not truly conscious of the one I’m in?

So I am having my own revolution of mind, body and spirit. Instead of fighting each other, I’m bringing them together.  Instead of breeding separation between  mysticism and science, I’m co-mingling them into my own scientific experiment about the mystical experience called life.

A little disclaimer: I am all for whatever works for you, whether it be meditation, yoga, angel cards and crystals. But I just want you to remember it’s you who’s doing the doing: it’s you who’s creating the meaning, not the other way around. Remember where your power lies and become conscious of that you.

I Intend to Keep Holiday Happiness All Year Round

flowerhappinessI have to say the holidays from Thanksgiving to New Year are my most favorite, but not just because of all the festivities. The family and food and wine and chocolate, and I love to give gifts. My mom is the most amazing seamstress and every year we create something for her to make. We give them as gifts; made by hand and imbued with our love.  There is such sweetness in thinking of each person, what will bring a twinkle in their eye and a deep wrinkle-causing smile to their face.

That smile is what I love.  For most of the year, getting my friends and family to smile like that seems harder than convincing Kim Jong Il to admit he’s been holding Elvis Presley hostage all these years. Seriously, life seems to be so full of busy this and busy that these days, we often don’t take the time to stop and smile from the depths of our soul, a smile so wide our eyes squint and we see the world just a little bit differently.

But something happens just after we take that first bite of Turkey. It’s like the Turkey (or maybe it’s stuffing, could be the stuffing) alters our DNA. It’s as if eating pumpkin pie (or any holiday pie) is the magic porthole that sucks us into another dimension where life is just…well…altered. I look around and everything appears to be softer, diffused, and just a little bit blurry, in a good way. All the worries of the year seem like a distant memory.  And everyone is smiling like a Cheshire cat.

And just like Alice in her wonderland, I too have fallen down a rabbit hole, but this one is warm and fuzzy and full of love and all things good, and I have no desire to find my way out of it. I float about this new world where everything is made of candy canes and marshmallows and even as the snow falls, I still feel warm wrapped in my favorite winter scarf, that one I only seem to wear during the holidays.

The vibrations of love and joy wind upwards all the way to January 2nd where I wake up, and after surveying the empty champagne bottles and confetti, realize that somewhere in the night I transported back to reality. I see the pile of bills on the table by the door, the Christmas tree is looking dry and tired, and dust has collected in the nooks and crannies of my collection of Santa’s from around the world. And I know it’s time to put it all away for another year.

And for a while I feel sad. I miss my house filled with people, all laughing and singing, having too forgotten about their woes for a while. I miss the jolly feeling I carry with me, as if I’ve had just enough bubbly to make me float. My feet are firmly on the ground now, ready to face another year of busy this and busy that.

With each year that passes, I notice I’m less interested in the New Years resolutions. I’m less interested in creating vision boards I probably won’t live up to, and I know that life will creep up on me and chaos will ensue. I like it that way. I’ll dream a dream and go about bringing it to life; I need not make a list for that to occur, and dreaming and doing is what we humans do, after all. But as we embark on another year of living, I reflect back on the years I’ve already lived and I am happy with all my doing. For sure there is more I could do, more I should do and more I want to do, and I will, but underneath all of that, there is a smile as wide as Texas and this year I’ve decided not to put that smile away with the Christmas lights and the stockings. This year I intend to wear that smile all through the seasons. And when I begin to forget that feeling of warmth from the fire I sat by on Christmas Eve, when I lose site of the glow that shines from the holiday lights that herald the joyous season, I’ll put on my scarf, close my eyes and smile like a kid on Christmas morning.

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Intent to stay positive

Juggling My Lemons

Perfect lemonYou know how when you’re at the grocery store, gazing at that skillfully stacked display of lemons looking for just the right one, and then you find it? You pluck it from it’s snug little piece of time and space and then suddenly, lemons are flying and you’re doing your best impression of a circus clown juggler in the middle of the produce aisle, lemons everywhere and people gawking in shock and awe. Yep, that’s me right now, mid-flail, lemons flying, people gawking.

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade,” they always say. How often have we heard that? How often have I heeded that sage piece of wisdom? I find I’m pretty good at making lemonade, usually anyway. Why is it that even though I have the perfect recipe, sometimes it just tastes awful? One day I’m going through life with the precise balance of sweetness to tart, buzzing along on a lemonade high and then—whammo—I take a swig filled with seeds and pulp, the sugar isn’t quite mixed in and it’s grainy and sour in my mouth. And all of a sudden I’m all, WTF?

I stop and lemonade comes spewing from my mouth. I’m all sticky with my face puckered, frozen and unable to move. I do a quick run down of all my lemons: work – good, love life – good, family – good, or at least it was good until lemons started flying. Hmmm, I’m stumped.

So why is it that all of my perfectly piled lemons suddenly plummeted to the floor, all domino-like. What happened? The truth is, I don’t know. And that’s even more frustrating than having to attempt the five lemon toss-and-catch maneuver in the midst of everything life has going on right now. How is it that I thought I had all my lemons in a row, and suddenly they aren’t?

It would be so much easier if I could just pin point the exact reason chaos has ensued, identifying the exact unripe lemon in the bunch, but,  I can’t. So now what? What does one do when all the tricks they have to balance their lemons stop working?

After several days of attempting to gather my lemons, only to drop one as I picked up another and hoping to stack them again as quickly as possible, (I mean who has time for this, right?) I realized I just needed to sit down and let my lemons be.

I have a lot of lemons. I always seem to. I’ve never been a one lemon at a time kind of girl. Most of us aren’t, really, and sometimes when you juggle, you’re bound to drop one. My usual trick is to pick that baby up and go right back to juggling. And sometimes that trick isn’t as seamless as we’d like, especially when it’s multiple lemons. I’m a great juggler but today I realized that instead of attempting to gather all my lemons at once, I need to stop, pick up one lemon at a time, clean it off, check for bruises and put it back on the shelf and let it be.

“What if I can’t catch them? What if one gets lost? What if one gets ruined?” There I was, standing in the grocery store aflutter and filled with worry and doubt. “If I don’t have the right amount of lemons, my lemonade won’t taste right and all will be lost.” This is what we do when our lemons fall; we often panic and in a frenzy attempt to pick them all up at once and try and stack them again. The fact is, we might just have too many lemons. We might need to let a few go, some might not yet be ripe and we should leave them for a bit longer and some might need more attention than we can give when we have so many, and the only way to see that is to step back from the produce stand, breathe and wait until all the lemons settle.

If I really think about it, I’ve dropped a few lemons in my life and I’m still here. I’ve mixed a few bad batches of lemonade and if after adding a little more of this and a little more of that it still tasted bad, well all I had to do was dump it out and start over again. Sometimes it wasn’t my recipe, sometimes I just picked a few unripe lemons, and there is no need to panic.  Even if it feels like it’s the last thing I should be doing, with lemons flying in the air and all, but it’s what I really need to do, take a break from the juggling, and let the lemons fall where they will.

photo by: L. Marie

Wordplay Wedneday: Looking for Love

Way of the heartI have been looking for you

I have searched for you in the kiss of a stranger

I have sought you in the eyes of my child

I thought you might be hidden in the arms of my mother

Or perhaps in the songs my father sang me to sleep.

I crumble in defeat

Wishing I could have found your comfort

But you elude me

Dodging me in my quest to conquer you, to hold you and claim you as mine once more

because you are waiting…

For me to stop thinking about you, to stop hunting you

Because the thoughts of a mind cannot give you your due

They cannot define you, because you are indescribable

What word could I possibly utter that would explain you. It’s all so limited and small against your expanse

And so you wait….

Until I go out of my mind and finally see that you have been here all along, behind the words of wisdom, underneath the fear and doubt. Love…

***

We spend every waking minute seeking ways to experience this feeling. I have no other word in my language but love to describe it, but it just does not do it justice. From the moment I emerged from the womb, I felt as if it was ripped from my soul. Sometimes so frantic to find it I would do anything to experience the warmth of it’s caress, the never ending expansiveness of it, the gift of wholeness it would bring, wreaking such havoc in my soul, risking all that I have thinking this time I will catch it.

But this is not something to catch, there is no mind trap I could conjure that would snare it. It is just here, right here. And only when I finally stop knowing the path, when I stop chasing it, and stand still will I feel it’s arms already wrapped around me.

***

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3 Words to Remember to Make You a More Compassionate Person

namasteOne of my greatest frustrations with the idea of “being spiritual” is this notion that the response to our actions is really the responsibility of the person reacting. I suppose that’s true, I mean I know it’s true that everything we see and hear and experience is almost entirely painted with the colors in our belief palette.  All of our past hurts and betrayals stored nicely in little plastic jars ready for use when someone does something to us that makes us want to paint every wall in our house red with hurt.

And the moment we spew the paint from our minds that sage “righteously spiritual” piece of wisdom comes flying back at you “It’s just your perception”.  And suddenly you can’t breathe
because the room if filled with the sweet smell of burning smoke and mirrors and all you want to do is cough to cover up your screaming “bullshit” at the top of your lungs.

Ok to be fair, I did say that most of our responses to asshole behaviors from people who supposedly love us, is in fact painted with our colors and our brushes, but that does not diminish the fact that these people are most likely aware of what colors we’re using to paint with, I mean they are our friends, right? They supposedly get you and all your colors, or so you hope, if you have been honest anyway…So one would think they would act with another of those “absolutely enlightened and awakened” spiritual buzz words, impeccability.

Impeccability is in my book of all things that should be spiritual, but most would probably like to skip, because, well, it’s much easier to just hold up the mirror while hiding behind it, is something often forgotten by the person exhibiting said asshole behavior. The word impeccable, to me, means that when we act, we act in a way that is in accordance with our values, in a way in which we can stand back and look at our actions as being free from anything that isn’t aligned with honesty and integrity.

Which by the way are other nifty words you can bandy about as if you actually know what to do with them on your next  “journey”.  (In case you didn’t know it, that’s what the cool yogi’s are calling retreats these days, oh and if you don’t know what a yogi is, then I’d probably like hanging out with you.)

The way I see it is that friends don’t pour salt into each others wounds, friends do not openly act in a hurtful way and then tell you it’s just your perception. Which essentially means, if you’re an asshole, you don’t get to then pull out the “Get out of being called an asshole free card” in the name of spiritual awakening.

OK, It’s time to put on my big girl panties (you know the ones with OM printed on them) and play with a few other highly conscious and aware words. It’s time to get down to the nitty gritty of all of our asshole behavior, because the truth is, we can all be assholes, because in fact we are all human.

My words of the week are:

Boundaries: It’s true that I do have perceptions, some of which are wrong and often my paintings suck, setting boundaries around my values shows the greatest amount of self love for my self. Sticking to them, even more.

Listening: It’s also true that said asshole has his or her own paint set and most of the time we’re all painting blind. So listen to what people say with an understanding that it’s not always about you! (Is that possible!) Asking myself from where am I doing the listening (from my limited perspective or my open mind?) makes a huge difference.

And after all that remember this big word, communication. Relationships essentially all boil down to this one word. Being able to speak with impeccability about our boundaries and listen, understanding that we all have perceptions and they sometimes get in our way of being honest and acting with integrity and that we can choose to forgive the people who act in ways that we might consider asinine because sometimes that’s just what humans do on this crazy journey called life.

Namaste

Finding the Hugger in Me

sometimes, a hug is all what we needI am not a hugger.

I probably just failed Spirituality 101 by making an “I am” statement that includes a negative, but the truth is, I’m not a big hugger. Even though it’s a negative, it’s a true negative, so there. I’ll hug my children and my close friends, but I am not one of those touchy-feely, hold your hand at a weekend seminar where we literally just met kinds of people. And don’t get me started on those weekend retreats where everyone sits on cushions and shares stories. Oh God, help me. Not sharing!

Really, do I have to sit here and listen to some person go on and on about how they feel about their husband leaving them (“Honey, he left…move on!” is all I can think of to say) and then hear them whine about how they just want to get their power back? I’ll tell you get your power back: you go out and bang the first 27-year-old hottie you can find…trust me, your ex-husband is! On and on these people go, talking about sh** I just don’t understand, like they left their body and were soaring like an eagle and saw the world as an apple and picked at the apple until it was nothing but a core, and they realized the apple was them and they were empty and filled with the seeds of love. WTF?

This is why I have always avoided these events like the plague. I have often been invited to these “Find your Inner Goddess” weekends or “Dream Your New Reality Night” at the local new age bookstore, and I would politely say no thank you. It all just seemed freaky to me; all this out-pouring of love and light. I’m good with you holding your own light and I’ll take care of mine, thank you very much. Yes, I know I made WHAT THE BLEEP and all, and these are supposed to be my people, but I never quite actually felt I fit in.

Probably because I am not a big hugger. And I don’t want to tell you my deepest darkest secrets about how shitty I feel about myself and how afraid I am and hurt I feel. So I didn’t. Instead, I took on the role of documenter of the transformation instead of participant. That was safe for me. I sort of liked watching, like a peeping tom at the awakening of humanity. I could set up cameras and watch, but join in on the circle of light? Nope, not me.

And then the shit hit the fan and my outwardly perfect, very safe looking, carefully crafted charade of a life took a big nose dive out of the sky. Clearly, I wasn’t channeling my inner eagle, and I realized that I was divorced and unhappy, alone in my un-huggable bubble. The truth was, I wanted to actually experience an authentic life which meant, well, I was gonna have to learn to hug and share. Because the truth is, transformation, awakening, or simply realizing happiness, isn’t something that rubs off on you by watching. You have to participate.

So I did.

I went to a Goddess Dream weekend in Mexico and had my mind blown. It wasn’t just about the hugging, although it turns out I’m pretty good at that. It was about me, showing up for myself, listening to what was in my soul and sharing it, not only with myself but with others. Then, finally feeling not alone, and actually feeling that love and light everyone talks about. But not in some fake, glazed over, blissed out because that’s what we think we’re supposed to be kind of way. It was real, authentic and it didn’t come from hiding how I felt and pretending everything was cool. It came from good old-fashioned honesty, hugging and sharing. Boy, did I share. I was the annoying one; I was the one crying about my past and my hurt. And suddenly, it was released. And I finally understood all that love and light.

So now, when someone approaches me to hug me, I practically leap into there arms. I am happy to admit I am a damn good hugger and if you’ve got something to share, I’m here to listen too, with all the love and light I can muster.

Guess what – I’m human!

Smoke This!I think people have a fear of being found out.

I know this because I once had this same fear. This fear of being caught with my hand in the non-organic, sugar laden, big corporation labeled cookie jar instead of a raw, homemade dessert with DIY edible decorations. I have feared the wrath of my peers at not having read that book or been to that seminar, and having instead chosen to spend my weekend watching reruns of Hannah Montana with my kids, taking a trip to McDonald’s to eat a dead cow (I hope it’s a cow, whatever!), and letting them frolic in the play area while I perused the latest issue of my favorite gossip magazine (because sometimes you gotta know who cheated on who, right?). And I admit it: right now as I write this, I am enjoying a cup of Folgers coffee and smoking a cigarette.

I used to be afraid of being seen as flawed, as not “spiritual” enough. I was afraid people would see the missing eye on my blissed out bunny slippers or hear me snore during that last 15 minutes of yoga class, when what I should have doing was meditating.

So, like many of my friends, I scoffed at those around me who accidentally let their humanness slip out. I judged and sighed knowingly and gazed upon that lost soul with that look – you know, that look you get from someone who has decided they are somehow better than you, that they have tasted the elixir of enlightenment and you just don’t have the right stuff to play in their galaxy or dimension, that they are taking their unicorn and going home. But with each sigh, with each judging gaze of my blinded by light and bliss eyes, deep down inside I wished I, too, could just take off my crystals and that itchy hemp shirt and just wear my Walmart shorts and eat a Nestle ice cream and be okay with that, too.

I looked around me and saw that so many were struggling to keep up with the Jones, or I should say the Chopra’s (wink wink). This being spiritual thing is exhausting. It seemed ironic that the idea of living a spiritual life was supposed to mean living without judgment, but let’s be honest here, there seems to be a lot of judgment around what it means to be spiritual.

So what’s a girl to do who just wants to have some peace in her life, be happy and find joy, love and be loved, feel good about the world, who sometimes has wild experiences in what seems to be other dimensions, but could just be she had a little to much wine and well, you know, she can’t really explain it but it was really mind blowing, who sometimes feels deeply connected to all things known in this dimension and others, but sometimes wants to eat crappy food and shop at a discount store?

Do it. Do it and enjoy it. Seriously, go right now and do anything you want. If it brings you joy, do it because that is LIVING. We ARE human; we are all a work in progress and we are all here in this reality to live in it, learn from it, to expand within it and out of it at our own pace. There is no spiritual handbook with points next to each enlightened feat accomplished. Deepak and Eckhart are not somewhere up there keeping score.

Being human is in fact normal, and when I let go of trying to be anything other than human, suddenly I find myself spending more time doing the things that brought me the peace and joy and enlightenment I had been searching for. Funny how that happens: when I stopped chasing, it stopped running.

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