Clearing Out

[mandyjw]

You're so beautiful that you don't have a face.

You're so intelligent that you don't have a brain.

You're so wise that you're a fool.

You're so valuable and important that you're disposable. 

You're so loved that you're all alone. 

 

 

[mandyjw]

 

Under lying. Under lie ing? 

[mandyjw]

A long time ago I was at an event with my father in law. I said that if I had gone to college I would have gone into psychology. "Psychology" he said. "Only the people who are crazy and need psychology go into psychology." 

It took me so long to forgive him for that. 

It's really quite hilarious now. Oh, for all the jokes that went straight over my head.  

[mandyjw]

Not sure why I was curious to look this up.

"'No Man is an Island'

No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

This reminds me of one of my big insights from Abraham Hicks regarding the pouty little girl at the parade at Disney who said that the parade wasn't just for her, it was for all these other people. It's FOR YOU, it's all FOR YOU! 

I remembered today that when I was really little my sister did cheerleading for a year or two and I was SO excited to get old enough so I could. I'd borrow her pom poms and prance and flail around all the time. I went to some of the games and stood up on my chair and did the dance moves. When I finally got that old all the making fun of cheerleaders had gotten to me and I made fun of it too. My sister quit cheerleading at school quite quickly, but years later when she was still living at home started bellydancing. I did some of the moves with her but mostly made fun of her. She had a job working with wildlife for a while and she got a vanity plate that said WILDLFE. It was definitely a double meaning. It's pretty funny to remember that after dragging up a bunch of animal symbolism. 

I remember that toward the end of high school I had this moment when I realized that I regretted not cheerleading and just playing it safe all the time. The cheerleading was the one thing that really stuck out to me though. 

 

[mandyjw]

I had a cat when I was a kid named Chiquitita or Chiky for short. (a Spanish term of endearment for a woman meaning "little one") My Dad accidentally ran over her. She was deaf and fell asleep right under the tire of a trailer he had hooked up to his truck. I remember how awful he felt and that he took me to the beach that afternoon. 

Today I met a man driving a truck driving a bit aggressively and it brought up a reaction in me of fear, shirking and feeling unimportant and insignificant. 

I already mentioned that I loved Abba when I was a kid. There's another funny synchronicity with this.

As a kid I had this crazy love for fun and confidence. A few years of school turned me into a scared little mouse. The mother of one of my classmates early on was a very confident woman. She hadn't seen me in years and came to the school to do a story on a project we were doing, sending cookies to troops overseas. I remember that day I was helping in the kitchen and I touched my hair and a teacher screamed at me to wash my hands and not to touch my hair. At that moment she (the reporter) took a picture of me touching my hair and looking up terrified and that same stupid picture made it into the local paper. She asked my mother what had happened to me, noting that my personality had changed so dramatically. 

So the walls came tumbling down
And your love's a blown out candle
All is gone and it seems too hard to handle
Chiquitita, tell me the truth
There is no way you can deny it
I see that you're oh so sad, so quiet

Chiquitita, you and I know
How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leaving
You'll be dancing once again and the pain will end
You will have no time for grieving
Chiquitita, you and I cry
But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you
Let me hear you sing once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita
Try once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita
Try once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita

 

 

Edited January 29, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

[mandyjw]

Whoa. That's what the lyrics are? 

We're talking away
I don't know what I'm to say
I'll say it anyway
Today's another day to find you
Shying away
I'll be coming for your love, okay?

[Chorus]
Take on me (Take on me)
Take me on (Take on me)
I'll be gone
In a day or two

[Verse 2]
So needless to say
I'm odds and ends
But I'll be stumbling away
Slowly learning that life is okay
Say after me
It's no better to be safe than sorry

[Chorus]
Take on me (Take on me)
Take me on (Take on me)
I'll be gone
In a day or two

[Instrumental Break]

[Verse 3]
Oh, things that you say
Is it a life or just to play my worries away?
You're all the things I've got to remember
You're shying away
I'll be coming for you anyway

[Outro]
Take on me (Take on me)
Take me on (Take on me)
I'll be gone
In a day
Take on me (Take on me)
Take me on (Take on me)
I'll be gone
In a day

 

 

[mandyjw]

A horse is a horse of course of course. 

[mandyjw]

I had a dream last night that was annoying, I was dealing with the aftermath of something horrible that had happened to me, with no emotion whatsoever, and it took a little bit and putting together another annoying thing that happened last night to understand what it meant. 

It dragged up this memory.

I've always been afraid of men and afraid of doctors. Therefore, I have always avoided male doctors. When I was pregnant with my first kid, I went to a doctor far from here because I didn't trust the local one after hearing stories about her. When I went into labor I found that there was this random male doctor covering for my doctor's office. On the drive there, my labor sort of stopped a bit. My husband kept hitting every fucking rumble strip he could it seemed. We had to stop at a gas station. He went in to get food and left the car at the gas pump. As we came out of the store a man complained to me about how people were waiting to get to gas pumps. Instead of saying "I'm in labor", I just nodded my head and didn't say anything, as if to say without saying, "yeah, my husband is an idiot, what can you do?" When we got to the hospital, the valet, a young guy started asking me all kinds of questions about my car because he was interested in the model. Instead of saying "I'm in labor" I answered them all. By the time we got in there, I pretty much had stopped my labor because of stress and the male doctor, who obviously didn't want to spend his Saturday morning this way said I would probably be going back home. I hated him. 

I was in so much pain, and had driven so far that I wasn't happy to be told that what I knew was labor was not. I felt like I was wasting their time. Unimportant. Finally they left me to myself and I moved all around the room and got labor started again. The pain started to make me throw up, and it was later decided that I was in fact in labor. The doctor suggested everything he could to speed it up and I refused everything. 

When my son was actually born, I ended up having an intervention without my permission, that was not a good idea, and caused a lot of pain and complications after the fact. After this I sort of internalized it, thinking doctors are in charge, it's not my choice but I fantasized quite a lot about kicking him in the balls. 

When my daughter was born I was much more conscious at the time, everything went well, I got the doctor I wanted, didn't have to have any interventions that weren't my choice, and perfectly except for the fact that I was sick with a virus and needed some drugs to stop throwing up. The main nurse in charge of me was named Karma. I told her I loved her name and she told me her dad was a tough conservative Marine, and had thought it was a pretty name and had no idea what it meant. 

In my fear of being a victim, in my nonacceptance of being a mistreated or overlooked, (kind of like Eckhart Tolle's cold soup analogy, I just eat the fucking cold soup and don't say anything but internalize my nonacceptance) I made myself a victim. It tell myself this is good, I am good because I am a martyr, not a victim out of my need to be good. 

Edited January 30, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

Ever since I was really young every summer I did some local harvesting work which is now done almost all my machine or migrant workers from mexico. I absolutely loved it, even though it was back breaking and made me sore, I loved being outside all day and I loved the fact that luck and motivation were the factors that determined what you got paid. 

There was one big problem with this. I am small in stature for a woman and the strong, especially boys or men always got paid much more for less effort. This was just an accepted fact.

There was another problem with this, my mother taught me how to work and she taught me that if you weren't thorough enough you were actually stealing from the farmer. Internalize this as a obsessive compulsive truth teller and you're at another disadvantage. My parents strongly gave the message that others must always come first. Especially if they are strangers and you owe them nothing. 

When I got older I started my business and I needed to get serious about money to start it so I worked for an old man who had extensive fields. I remember listening to country music at the time, at a time when all my friends were going off to college, I was staying right here, so I might as well assimilate to the culture. Depending on the part of the field you could make a lot of money with little work, or a little money with a lot of work. 

I got the most amazing strip I've ever seen. It only got better as I went. Eventually I topped a little hill and there was a man at the end of my strip who had already harvested the entire thing. "Opps! I had the wrong strip." was all he said. I was PISSED. But I knew I had absolutely no power whatsoever. I said nothing.

Inexplicably, because he wouldn't have a way of knowing what had happened, so I thought, the field owner, who I rarely saw, carried my buckets and directed me to another amazing strip. His name was Justin. 

That was the last time I every did that kind of work because my business took off and I got paid a lot more for using the talents I did actually possess. A part of me misses it though. 

Edited January 30, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

Ever single spring since before I became a teenager, my entire life was spent helping my parents caretake the cemeteries. Sophomore year in high school I started to really want some expansion in my life and nothing I did seemed to work out. The spring of that year, one day after school we were supposed to get a few hours in of raking leaves before it got dark and I was tired and unhappy and couldn't seem to make the rake move. I didn't want to be there.

Later that night, I was in the bathroom and I heard my dad talking to my mom. "How did WE raise such a lazy kid?" he asked her. "I don't know." she said. This CRUSHED me. Ever since that night, I worked as hard as a possibly could. 

Work was such a huge ideal in my family. Work, honesty, kindness. The own health and happiness of our family always came second to whatever anyone else needed. My Dad was constantly trying to please people with how hard he worked. 

His company got sold out and he had logged so much illegal overtime, that he literally lost thousands of dollars overnight. All to please his boss and prove to himself how hard he worked.

Eventually he got sick mysteriously, around the time I had already started working obsessively on my business. He went out on disability and started looking into spiritual materials. His ego must dissolve along with his identification with work. 

It was too late for me at the time. I had internalized the message of work = good. 

Edited January 30, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

My mother was wise enough to tell me exactly what was going on when I grew up. With the favoritism, with my Dad's workaholism, with the way he played out in our own family the patterns in which he himself was raised. She knew of the problems in our family, but believed she was powerless to change them. She did not believe she had the right to stand up to her husband or even, simply, express what she wanted. Women must be always in submission to a man's power. But always still in their hearts, knowing that men are ignorant fools, and accepting that they are at the mercy of it.

It wasn't enough that she told me. A part of me "saw" and "knew" but it was still susceptible, just the same. I didn't even respect her or appreciate her until my relationship with my dad went so sour, until I had a boyfriend, and then I was forced to change the stories I was telling myself about them. 

[mandyjw]

I had a best friend who frequently got completely lost in her own excitement and impulses and she was the complete opposite of my mother. My mother hated her even, I felt. Although, when they saw each other, my mom treated her like gold, like every one else. 

As I started developing a close relationship with my mom as an older teenager and young adult, I asked her why she would never let herself get excited about anything.

She thought about this for a while. She told me that when she was a little kid, she went to a birthday party and they gave out party favors and she was given a little duck toy. She was SO excited that she ran around with it wildly yelling "Ducky, ducky!" and she ran straight into a metal pole and hit her head really hard. After that she learned her lesson. Excitement = dangerous stupidity. 

When I was very young I had a blankey, it was my comfort object. I carried it around until it was worn ragged. It was a blanket with ducks all over it. 

Edited January 30, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

This Self Love stuff, Ooooooo....

“I AM wealthy, poor, healthy, sick, free, confined were first of all impressions or conditions felt before they became visible expressions. Your world is your consciousness objectified. Waste no time trying to change the outside; change the within or the impression; and the without or expression will take care of itself. When the truth of this statement dawns upon you, you will know that you have found the lost word or the key to every door. I AM (your consciousness) is the magical lost word which was made flesh in the likeness of that which you are conscious of being.”
― Neville Goddard

“To reach a higher level of being, you must assume a higher concept of yourself.”
― Neville

 

Edited January 30, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

My brain doesn't work the way it used to, it makes connections between things, sees funny patterns between words, colors, symbols, sees things that are too deliciously connected to be "real". At night, while I'm sleeping I can become aware of connections it's making seemingly on its own. Sometimes the connections fade away when I'm awake and think about them, other times they are made stronger.

Lately at night it's been focusing on one specific spot which is the cemetery I spent so many hours in working with my parents. I became aware of how this place in particular is too interesting to be real, when it's seen in a certain light. I made that same discovery about my immediate neighborhood, and the more I perceived and explored and enjoyed the connections and meanings, the more there were. 

This cemetery is tiered on a hill overlooking a lake. It ends in woods and if you go through the woods you'll come to a steep drop off and a gravel pit. All the gravel has been excavated from this spot. If you go back and dig in old writings, you will discover mentions that this now gravel pit used to be an incredible natural bowl shaped structure that was a meeting place to the Native Americans. It was like a natural amphitheater of some sort and several tribes would gather there. No one is indignant about this because no one knows. My mother dug this history up and wrote a children's book about it. I'm not sure why she hasn't finished or published it. I'm going to question her about it more. 

The lake we swim at is directly across from this and I can see exactly where the landscape becomes unnatural and I focus on this spot a lot when I'm there. It struck me that the cemetery is now almost a sort of burial pyramid shape and how the ground is gravel, perfect for preservation. It also struck me that while a culturally significant part of the landscape was completely destroyed for money, the purpose it originally had of connection and communication, was the same exact purpose that the removal of the gravel filled, in building roads for connection and communication. 

 

Whaaaat.

“The day of resurrection is determined in this manner. The first Sunday after the full moon in Aries is celebrated as Easter. Aries begins on the 21st day of March and ends approximately on the 19th day of April. The sun’s entry into Aries marks the beginning of Spring The moon in its monthly transit around the earth will form sometime between March 21st and April 25th an opposition to the sun, which opposition is called a full moon, The first Sunday after this phenomenon of the heavens occurs Is celebrated as Easter; the Friday preceding this day is observed as Good Friday. This movable date should tell the observant one to look for some interpretation other than the one commonly accepted. These days do not mark the anniversaries of the death and resurrection of an individual who lived on earth.”
― Neville Goddard

[mandyjw]

What's a story? Is a story, "I'm annoyed and stressed out and the fucking kitchen is a mess?" 

Is a story fantastical happenings and happily ever after? 

Is a story going to ice skate on the pond you always skated on as a child remembered how lonely you always were, how you always taught yourself everything because there was no one else around and nothing else to do? Is a story skating effortlessly appreciating the feeling of non resistance and freedom as you watch the sky darken and the moon brighten above?  

I just want a knight in shining armor to rescue me from this storyland. How ironic. I also want a knight in shining armor to smack across the face for daring to do what only I can do. What I don't want is this... alone. 

Why can't you love yourself, you fucking bitch? What's wrong with you? 

I was sitting at the table trying not to be an asshole in my own head, and a pencil I'd never noticed in front of me said "Never Fear". The other side said "Firefighters", but I got the message for me. 

 

[mandyjw]

Part of me is wise. Part of me knows it's not. It watches. 

Part of me is a fucking idiot. The other part watches the idiot do stupid things, and then it... (oh wait that's the idiot again, playing the part of the wise part) tells the other part not to do that anymore and shames it.

You mean I have to make one part love the other part until they are one? I don't think I'm ready for that, I need supervision. 

You mean they were ONE ALL ALONG? 

 

[SilentTears]

Oh Mandy... You are so loved! 

I enjoy the videos you put out. They have helped me quite a bit over "time"(really I just mean this undying moment we have always lived). Just wanted to thank you when I read your most recent posts. 

You are a wonderful existence. Hahaha just trying to lift your spirits. >.>

[mandyjw]

@SilentTears Thank you!  I have a flair for drama so I suppose that what I'm doing here is trying to write myself out of the story I unconsciously wrote myself into. Even when I'm tearing myself apart in writing I feel in that moment like I've transcended it, or if I haven't yet I know that I'm taking the right steps to do so. The entertainment and joy of the drama comes bubbling up and I can laugh at the joke that I am. In that moment I'm both appreciated and "seen through". 

 

 

I feel like the further I go, the more "realizations" and applications to life seem to get simpler and I feel more and more stupid for having not seen them sooner. Or else, the voice "You goddamn idiot, you should have KNOWN that" is getting louder and louder as I get closer and closer to its source.

I don't know who I'll be if I get rid of the voices. The voices are the ones that define me, that tell me who I am and how I'm doing. Who am I without them? How will I have a relationship with myself? Who will remind me to stop picking my nose when I'm around other people? 

Is this the true fear of being lonely? Is this the true alone that feels so delicious and yet at the same time, horrific?

 

Edited February 1, 2020 by mandyjw

[mandyjw]

If I get rid of the voice in the head WHO will sing me lullabies? 

Ohhhhh Rick. I yearn for you. You do actually hurt me though, you liar. 

Edited February 1, 2020 by mandyjw