Trickster

Goya y Lucientes/detail (visipix.com)

Silly me, I thought that when the astrologer, and the channeler, and the tarot card reader affirmed that “my life was all about work” that this meant that work was my sweet spot.

What they apparently meant was that work was where I would do–all my work.

Bummer.

Furthermore, the “work” that I have to do, is not the work itself, but the inner work that shows up when I am “working.”

And it doesn’t matter if I’m working at a pizza shop, or in the hospital laboratory or on the slopes.

Double bummer.

I keep thinking that it’s about finding the right fit or the right timing or the right something.

But the rightness I need to find is–inside me.

Darn it.

That is so much harder than doing a job, and it’s already been so hard. I’ve twisted myself into a pretzel so many times wanting to please, and then fallen into a dark hole because I can’t see–me.

Van Gogh (vispix.com)

All my life, I shook my head at those who lost themselves in a  man or a family or even a country, but all the while I’ve been loosing myself to work–just wanting to be loved–like the rest of them.

My arm chair analyst, aka. my husband, attributes this to my always-striving relationship with my father;  and I have to concede, he has a point.

But that point doesn’t tell me where to go. It just tells me where I am.  And what I need is some help finding a brand new road; because I’ve worn out my welcome walking down this one:

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

By Portia Nelson

Chapter I

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in
I am lost . . . I am helpless
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter II

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter III

I walk down the same street
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in . . . it’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter IV

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter V

I walk down another street.

Kelly Salasin, LAST Day of February, 2011

(to hear more about “twisting into a pretzel” to please, click here for a Abraham-Hicks audio clip.)

For the previous post in this series: Making Room for Despair

For the next post: The Lollipop Tree

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One thought on “Trickster

  1. This makes me of those words happiness is not a destination…. I can’t remember the rest. Ha ha. I really loved that poem , so true 🙂

    Like

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