Ready, set, go. . .

Hallo!  Whomever you are, I'm glad you're here. This is new for me.


 What do I mean by "Notes on the Path"?  Over the years I've come to think of anyone making efforts to live a conscious life, a life of intention, as being "on the path."  Many of us wander around letting life just happen to us until something convinces us we have a hand in the direction our lives take.  This realization brings a sort of awesome joy, as well as a lot of confusion about what it all means. Also, in my case, helpless laughter at the often bumbling way I try to get a handle on what parts of my life I have control over, and what parts are outside my purview.  I often get things exactly backwards, trying to MAKE things happen that aren't any of my business while neglecting to pick up the reins of things that are totally mine.  Argh!  But I'm given wonderful guidance from a variety of sources (whether or not I'm willing to listen) and would love to share those "notes" with others, as we help each other wend our way on this miraculous journey we call life. 


 I'm starting this blog with excitement and a certain amount of trepidation.  My daughter introduces me to new folks as "the last great mind of the 16th century" with reason; I spend ridiculous amounts of time spinning amorphous fibers into yarn;  I get excited about a strain of yeast turning a blob of dough into a beautiful loaf in record time (sometime remind me to tell you about the Mutant Yeast);  I am hopelessly and completely in love with paper and pens and actual books. I meditate a lot, teach meditation, and play with energy such as Earth Energy and Reiki to enhance my life and the lives of clients around the globe.

 My relationship with the computer is becoming amicable at this point, but that's been a long time coming. (It's also involved a huge amount of patience from computer savvy people, most notably said darling daughter). I'm not completely dim;  I know what amazing tools computers and the Internet are.  So I find myself at least visiting the 21st century for moments here and there, fascinated, awed, often flustered, and very grateful. Little by little I've ventured into the blogosphere and found camaraderie in the thoughts, feelings and perceptions of others.


Still, when guidance started suggesting that I begin a blog, I shut down.  I would quickly change the subject, and at times stick my fingers in my ears and hum, "I can't hear you!"  They insisted that my thoughts and feelings and perceptions about the guidance I'm given, which I usually only foist on family, friends, and clients, might be of interest and spark enlivening conversations.  They pointed out that I had found that on other people's blogs.  Still I resisted.


This resistance has gone on a long time.  I generally listen to guidance pretty quickly, but on this subject I've been amazingly stubborn.  Why?  Because I'm afraid people might disagree?  You might not like me?  You may think my ideas are dumb?  Maybe a teensy, but I recognize that as part of life.  In fact, I revel in the fact that we are individual and therefore have unique opinions and ways of looking at the world.


I think the real issue is that, around the computer, I often feel DUMB.  I don't like feeling dumb.  So instead of buckling down and learning how to make friends with it, I've been avoiding.  Anybody else out there do that with things you feel less than competent around?


But I'm finally taking some baby steps into this amazing future we're careening into, to share some of the guidance that comes to me, and some of the experiences I have.  And the first bit of guidance is always, one way or another, to lighten up.  Man oh man, can I take myself seriously!  I'll bet YOU never do that. ( It can get a little annoying when I hear certain guides, notably the Three Grandmothers, guffawing over my self-imposed leaden attitude. I can't even get into a good sulk without hearing them snicker good-naturedly. )


Anyway, for a baby step, this is getting pretty long-winded.  Thanks for joining the party.  See  you next week.