The New Circus


Come one!  Come all!  Marvel!  Step right up and see!  The new freak show!


The woman who has emotions.


The boy who cries.


Here is a man who self-reflects.


This young girl, young woman, she has a precious feeling about herself!  Just as is!  Her own self!  In conjunction!

Behold in wonder!  Marvel!

This old couple has managed to actually mature as their bodies have aged!


And now!  Feast your eyes on tonights true turnabout.  Beyond the pale new freak.  A rebel without a cause.  Behold!

The loving individual!  Yes! Wait!  Hold your patience!  Though you only see this individual in shadow for now, soon it will be revealed in the new, revelatory freak show that we have, this individual who stayed loving.  Accepting.  Receiving the feelings with the body.  Through the breathe. Loving.  In this world ladies and gentlemen!  Chose to stay loving!

It is hardly to be believed.  It must be experienced to be believed.  This individual is waiting to come out of the shadows and meet you.  For only the extra price of one corn dog!

I can hear you grumbling.  But for just the price of one corn dog you can meet the freak of them all.  The individual who chose to stay loving.  You won’t believe what this individual looks like ladies and gentlemen, until you have seen for yourself and yourselves.



Talking with Ghostesses.

Ghosts are so sensitive.  You have to watch how to talk or they will go away.  My sense of humor scared a ghost away one time.

“You started calling me Tom right after my brother Tom died.  But no, it’s Wayne.  I just came back from the East Coast for his funeral.  Hi Phoebe.  You want your sandwich?  I was gonna go on break but for you i’ll go back and make one more sandwich.”

I continued to accidentally call Wayne Tom in the grocery store over the following months.

One foggy, quiet day I bumped into him on my way into the grocery store. “Hi Tom”.

There were no other customers nearby the entrance where we stood.  A wind blew in from the still open door.  It gasped shut behind me finally as he responded.

“Phoebe it’s Wayne damnit.  Wayne.  Not Tom.  Tom’s by dead brother”.

A shimmering appeared in the space next to Wayne.  A man.  I blurted out without thinking: “No! It is Tom!  Can you see him Wayne? He’s standing right next to you.  He’s wearing a white shit with thin blue stripes going across his chest and lower hem and a pair of…oh, you can tell he likes them.  You can tell he really likes to wear them but they are a hideous…a hideous pair of lime green cargo shorts.”

Now the man-ghost looked at me and began to un-waver.

“No!  Wait!  I’m sorry.  Your shorts are beautiful because you love to wear them”!

But it was too late and he had un-wavered.  Out of existence.

“Damn it! I’m sorry Tom.  Wayne!.  I’m so sorry.  I insulted him.  I hurt him and he left”.

And that’s how sensitive you have to be when you talk with ghosts.

Depression, Anxiety and Connection to the Child Within.

When I don’t go to work when I am supposed to I feel terrible all day.  My inner little girl will not feel it is safe enough to come out and enjoy life if I am not doing what I am supposed to be doing.  She feels like I have been bad and must punish myself by hating myself for not being better than I am.  She feels it is right that I should be punished.  That happiness is for the others.

To help with this rigidity I try to connect with her more.  To let her see that that may have felt like a good solution because it worked when she was little, now there is no need for it.  And she needs me to let her know this.  By my not correcting this thinking with consciousness she will continue on thinking she is being ‘good’ by thinking that way.

I imagine I am speaking with a little girl.  We talk like any two people would.  Depression in a family and culture falls hard on the children.    She feels profoundly hurt.  Rejected.  Slammed.  Hated and plotted against and hunted and attacked.  All these feelings were valid for that is what happened.  That is what is allowed to happen to children.  That is how bad it feels for them.  Even if the adults feels otherwise.

She feels the people and the world is dying and dead around her and that it is slowly covering her life-light.  As my then 4 year old niece described  to me last year: “I am getting poisoned each night”.  Too much chaos and lack of consistency is the same sensation as a big earthquake for a child.  A huge earthquake going on all the time with an entire void and chasm opening up in the ground beneath their feet.

Without my inner little girl feeling it is safe enough to come out and enjoy life I have no hope of being happy.  Depression and anxiety are both forms of me being out of touch with what my inner little girl is saying.  Mostly she is saying she is scared.  It may sound like something else, but actually hearing what my inner girl is saying brings relief.  Even if I have done nothing to change the situation yet.

My adult self has the power to change a situation.  My inner little girl has the power to say what she needs.  My adult self has the power to listen to my inner girl.  When I don’t  listen her absence and my connection with space/time is covered over with depression, anxiety and a sense of things being surreal at times.

When I feel guilty for not having listened to her more I am blocking myself from being able to hear her in the present moment and future.  Punishment of myself is counterproductive when doing Self-Reflection Work.

When I listen and giver her what she is telling me she needs I feel comfort and a huge sadness and grief.  Life is unbearably painful.  Life becomes real when the pain becomes real.  A sense of possibility is also starting to break through the cracks leaving me with a sense of carefree joy and optimism.  It feels as though I could fly.

She has no agenda.  She is the one who can live in the present.  She is the lack of worry.  She is what feeling good is.  Letting her be there.  Scared and all.  The connection is so soft between us.  And so sensitive.  And without softness there can be na happiness.  Without the connection to the child within there can be no happiness.





How I am using my white privilege. By Sheila the CountryClub Shaman

If I have the ability and time and money to delve into the inner world via therapy, who am I not to do it?  When so many of the worlds worst problems come from spiritual and emotional abuses of people, who am I not to explore the inner world of care and abuse?

When I don’t have to flee a war-torn state or hide from raping soldiers, who am I not to take supreme advantage to indulge in what makes people work?  Who am I not to indulge in the discovering of the inner world?

What I find in doing the exploring is that there is no such thing as indulgence when it comes to the inner emotional/spiritual world.  It is an exacting world that will ruin everything if it is ignored for too long.

The inner emotional/spiritual world is not an indulgence.  It is a necessary skill and tool to learn about the terrain of the inner emotional/spiritual world.   I call it the emotional/spiritual world because emotions and spirituality are entwined inside of human beings.  If one gets sick the other one gets sick too.

If one can heal the other one can too.

The inner emotional/spiritual plane of existence works by the rules of irrationality.  Like the laws that govern rationality, there are laws that govern irrationality.  The laws that govern irrationality cannot be accessed using the laws of rationality.  The laws of irrationality can be understood in terms in the laws of irrationality.

1:  Everything has a shadow.

2. Everything has an opposite.

3. Everything has a possible union

The union is made possible by a harrowing journey.  Think Mordor.  Think the cave with Dumbledore.  Think of a major fantasy plot that focuses on a female as going through something undeniably heinous and returning changed and grown.

The union is not a guarantee.   The other two laws are.  These are some of the laws for you to study as you learn about the Laws of the Irrational.  We could also refer to it as the House of the Irrational.  That has a nice ring to it…sorry off track.

In the House of the Irrational, much like the House of Pancakes, nothing is ‘Clean’.      Not in the way Americans are used to things being clean.  Americans are used to things being sterilized.  Sterile.  That level of clean. There is just that clean and nothing else.  Not even the germs of life.  Nothing else.  Only that one thing.  Just That Clean.

Not possible with the House of the Irrational.  Every time I proclaim an absolute in the House of the Irrational, and demented looking twin of mine pops up and announces with equal energy that she believes something else completely.

And it is the tension that I have to learn to understand.  That weird tension that makes me want to avoid myself.  The weird tension that is easy to addict to something new.

It is that tension that is found like Laura Palmer in the Black Lodge.  It is the mystery and the secret.  It leads the way.  The tension leads the way to another mystery…the White Lodge.  Which we don’t know about enough yet because very few people do inner lodge work and so nobody can tell us what it is like at the other end of the tension in the white lodge.  Sounds like peace.  Doesn’t sound so white to me.

Violating the inner emotional/spiritual world, murdering off the ability to feel, cuts people off from their ability to tolerate and solve tension.  Both within themselves and in their outer emotional/spiritual world of relationships.

It doesn’t always have to be an explosion or a crash landing.  Solving tension could mean  ascents and descents equally smooth and proud.


Grief Relief

Grief is the burden and

Grief is the relief.


There.  There! The grief is caught like an animal inside the tight trap of my throat and chest.

I want to die.  That is how I will beat this grief.  I will die.

But why?  Why should I defeat my own grief?  Grief is the closest thing to childlike that most adults have.  Most of us have had our happiness abilities so bashed out of us that our last contact with our inner child and god has become grief.

Grief is a pure state.  When I am in grief, I can ‘See’.  I have understanding.  And compassion.  For myself.  Which is amazing.  And I also have compassion for other people when I am feeling my grief.  And compassion for other people is the most freeing thing I have ever felt.

Grief is a tightness that lives in my chest and throat and shoulders and fingertips.  I shake and shudder uncontrollably when grief is passing through me.  The release of my grief, which I used to not be able to connect with, has become involuntary.  I can’t control it, but I’ll take it.



That Nagging Feeling

All day I felt like I was forgetting something.  It made me uneasy.  Like I wasn’t taking care of something important.

It wasn’t until I lay down and reflected a little bit that I realized what I kept feeling like I was forgetting was fear.  I hadn’t felt afraid enough today and my inner fear monster wanted more.

The feeling matched the insight with an ‘AHA!’ feeling.  I feel like my fear has become a bad best friend that I have to take care of too much.  I can never have time just for myself because my fear needs me to listen to it.  It has something important to tell me.

The fear is covering my feelings of grief.  More and more when I become lost in anxiety, fear and depression, I wonder if there isn’t grief over something that anxiety, fear and depression are covering over for me.

Grief is singularly hard because nothing can be done about it.  Nothing.  It has to take its time and course and that feels so wrong.  But it is right.  It is grief’s way.  I don’t know why grief is that way.

So fear or grief.  Not an appetizing choice.  But I guess I choose grief because it seems like at least with grief I get somewhere in the suffering.  I get wiser because of grief.  No on ever grows wiser because of fear.


Apology as Acknowledgment

The reason why apologies are important is because they force you to acknowledge with you body, with your mouth, what your part in a situation was.

By not apologizing, it allows for the person to ignore with their body, and thus with their feelings, what they may or may not have done.

Apologizing should not be confused with a loss of power.  Apologizing should be understood as acknowledgment.

Love and Hate: The Good the Bad and the Ugly and the Beautiful.

Love is so hard.  It is hard to stay soft.

Hate is so easy.  It is the easiest thing to close off and shut down.

I have been hateful.  It was easy.  Fun.  Exciting and momentarily satisfying.

Love is hard work.  It is dragging a drudge along the bottom of the river

looking to see if what you really want can be brought up through to the surface.

Found again.  The precious.  From the dark no less.  The depths.  The unknowns as people fearfully see them.  Though they feel as familiar once you are there as I imagine the womb still feels.  Or death in a certain aspect.  Familiar.

Hate seems like it cuts you free from the pain of relationships in particular.  Free from the pain of Love.  Hate feels for a while like it sets one to running fast and free and to anywhere or anything.  Hate feels like one has been released.

It feels like hate releases you from feeling and caring and other people and your own selves that you would rather ditch.  It feels like hate sets you free and running fast.


But hate ultimately conflicts everything worse.  Love is complicated but it heals.  It fuses and joins.

But choosing love more than hate is no easy matter.  Choosing love means what to me?

To me choosing love means accepting how things are and not letting fear make my decisions for me.  I don’t want to only see what fear tells me to see.  I want to dare loving myself as is good and bad and ugly and beautiful and letting my hearts passion inform me and my instincts and gut inform me the most as well.

Choosing love also means what to me?

Choosing love means trying to harness the energy of compassion in my dealings with myself and others.

Right now for example I could harness the power of compassion for myself by remembering some of the very real things that have hurt me in my life and made me feel set back.   I can reflect in how I feel these things have affected my personality and my ability to deal with different life aspects.  When I then look at my current life situation I feel more relaxed about where I am.  More accepting of where I am and able to see that I, actually doing quite well in many different ways.

It is hard to do that though!  It is easier and more fun for me to bitterly reflect on someone else and how they’re assholes and I am right.  To stay soft and let in some of the things people have said to me is painful and I wonder if some of them might be true.  And then I have to follow the rational to see if it is true and that is hard work and painful too!  Love is hard and endless and consistent.  Hate is easy and energizing and fun.

Love can lift the house out of the stuck-mud with its consistent intent and its durable sustainability.   The mud trying to suck with brute force back down into the immovable. A practice of love as an organized, ever-changing energy could reverse harm.

Love forever soils a life with the experience of the earthly human body and all its horrible pain and rolling pig pleasure.

If I could discipline my own self to have this Love for my own self I would be free and joyous.  Happy.  If I could find in such a system of love with other people I would be the happiest of all.  And I am afraid because I don’t know if I can go for it.  I don’t know if I can choose love and choose to be so open hearted and in awe and hurting and wanting and needing and not getting and then getting and not knowing how to handle and being dependent on other humans for my human needs as all each and every human is and always has been and always will be.

I can be able to do it if I am able to cry.  As long as I can cry I can love and be loved.  If I cant cry…things tend to dry up.

Hate can burn the house to the ground.  With hate the flames are a source of pride in being detached. An honor killing of the feelings.  Cleansed.  Hate is what can’t stand Love with all its messy contradictions.

I can be something of the zealot at times.  I can find myself in manias.  And that fascism starts ruining my friendships almost immediately.

Love takes fascism and wraps him up in her arms and gets flour all over him and smells like spices and sex and fascism hates love because he loves her so much and there isn’t a thing he can do to stop that human flow of feelings upon which he is merely a bobbing sailboat; needy, dependent and powerless.

And now Love and Fascism are dancing together.  Slow dancing.  Slow.  And fascism is sunk into her.And it feels so good.  The lights are a soft golden glow in the background and big green trees whisper in the black shadows surrounding the wooden dance floor. And fascism can never believe he could belong with her.  He can’t stand the bigness of his feelings and his feeling ‘not-able’.  Fascism then cuts off his feelings.   Then we have fascism.  And it’s not fun.  Fun for fascists is having power over other people.  Its sick.  Its what our parents had over us.  Love and Hate definitely have to do with our parents.   And child rearing methods that are child abuse hidden in plain sight.


Hello Hello


I can never see my own until it is already fully in play.  Affecting.

Growth is never what I think it is or will be.

Growth is almost always surprising.  Even when one has been working for it, it is still a surprise when it shows up.  Part of that being the unexpected ways that growth makes its presence known.  Impossible things suddenly doable though difficult and harrowing.

Growth.  Hello hello growth.  You really scare me.  And Im so glad you’re here.


First one area

and then another.


Over time

re-leveling will probably need to be done

as the ground changes.


New tools will be thought up

and felt through to be helpful.

People will comment

and ultimately

it is up to life and me

how the ground surrounding me

is leveled.