Leave Me Alone;
I'm Trying!!!

I didn't decide early on in life that I wanted to get into healing or writing, or anything else, for that matter. When I was very young, my mother asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I said: "a bum." I had no clue about what I was going to do with my life for the better part of my life (FYI, at the time of the creation of this web site in the beginning of 2008, my age is 45). Many a time, when opportunity knocked, I didn't hear, and when inspiration called, I didn't answer. Divine signs were probably stopping traffic around me, and few were the times when I actually paid attention. I've managed to doubt myself several times in the same sentence, let alone in the same day. And whenever I felt there was something significant I was meant to do in this lifetime, my first reaction was always to look up and ask: "Are you sure I didn't get the wrong memo?"

I'm the first to admit I spent a lot of my time and energy resisting, misunderstanding or ignoring the process. And I also have to admit I still don't completely get it. And even when I finally started learning, paying attention and changing, I became a painfully slow learner. And a stubborn one, at that. One day, I would get a glimpse, a break-through. For a few hours, I'd think: "By George, I've got it! From this point on," I'd say to myself, "It will be easy! I'll always know what to do, how to act, what not to think." Then, the next day, next hour, or next moment, some annoying or unhappy circumstance would happen, and I'd be right back where I started. Angry. Depressed. Fearful. Doubtful. Reactive. All of the above at the same time.

Then I'd be taken over by shame and guilt about my reactions, which would only get worse when I tried to read the inspirational words by the acknowledged masters. They had achieved such perfection, and I was so... me! I should know better by now. So, I would suppress my emotional reactions. Not acknowledge, honor and release them, as we are supposed to do (not that I'm quite sure what that means, or know exactly how to do it). No, just suffocate the heck out of them (that I know how to do very well). Then I'd get sick. As the cycle would repeat itself and intensify and escalate, I'd get sicker and sicker. Sounds familiar, anyone?

Sometimes I would try to concentrate on other people's pains, struggles and illnesses while I was still unhealthy, in an attempt to heal myself by healing others. I felt it would be better if I concentrated my energy on trying to help others less fortunate than myself, rather than paying too much attention to my own problems. I just got sicker.