If the Phone Doesn't Ring, Its Me, 11Jan12

There's a line out of this old Jimmy Buffett song that I finally understood last night, "If it takes all the future, we'll live through the past.  If the phone doesn't ring, it's me."  That lyric has always puzzled me.  I wondered if it wasn't some kind of curious time-space continuum problem.  Last night, I glimpsed what the Caribbean songmeister was singing about.  We are each and all always reliving our past, and thinking that the present experience is the same as what we have previously experienced.  This is the same as that, right?  If our remembrance of the previous experience was a positive and supportive one, then our interpretation of the present day experience (which in itself is inherently neutral) is also likely to be, at least initially, positive.  As we know, "it is done to us as we believe", therefore we perceive, create and interpret the present experience in light of what we believe about and selectively remember or reconstruct from our past experiences.

This morning I'm at the car dealership getting my car serviced.  For two years after I moved to Arizona, I got my car serviced under warranty, at the dealership in Phoenix and they took exquisitely good care of my car, and by extension, me, and were attentive to my curious questions and peculiar concerns.  I felt valued by them.  When I moved to Tucson, I chose to shift my car servicing to the local dealership and really did expect to receive the same level of care.  I was shocked to discover that they didn't have the same level of customer care, nor did they really seem to care that much.  Finally, I pressed the point hard and received virtually the same service for the same monetary exchange, but I could tell that it was offered under duress.  When we completed the agreed number of services for the agreed number of dollars, they were clear that the offer would not be extended.  So today, I'm back at the dealership because I initially purchased extended warranty coverage for 100,000 miles.  When that coverage ends in 15,000 miles, I'll see what happens.

So what's underneath that?   What's the old belief about myself that I am reliving, again and again and again, until I get a new perspective on it?  On some level, do I feel like I need to work or "fight" for how I want to be treated?  Sometimes.  In my much younger days, I would seldom stand up for myself, and I would say 'please and thank you' for whatever came my way.  And I allowed some exquisite unkindnesses to just steamroll through my life, claiming all the while that these nasty things had to be for my highest good.  At the same time, I also repeatedly experienced massive and extraordinary kindnesses.  So, what's the basic recurring, repeating, reinforcing storyline in my head?  Is the universe a predominantly safe and friendly place, or do I need to fight for what I feel is mine?  Do I automatically assume those I come into contact with are against me, or that we are working on the same quality of life?  I choose to think of my universe as friendly.

I just love manifestation in real time.  The new young service rep just told me that they would take care of 'the thing' that had been niggling the back of my mind for about 10,000 miles.  Cause and effect.  Perhaps this reframe is about speaking up for myself without feeling like I need to fight for it, and allowing the universe to give me what I claim, which then frees me up to stop living the past, pulling more of my energy into present time, and live more fully in the Now.

Sunday, 3:11am - Shut up and Drive

In the wee hours this morning I was reflecting on a conversation with a friend when I blurted out "Shut up and Drive".  It wasn't intended to be offensive.  I wasn't even intending to say it.  I thought the quote "Shut up and Drive" was from the movie 'Thelma and Louise'.  It isn't.  It's the title of two very, very, very different songs, neither of which I ever remember hearing.  I feel like somehow we are each being sandpapered and polished to do *great works* that only we can do.  And only we can each do them.  I don't like that thought and yet, at the same time on some level, I feel like its time.  And it's right.

It sounds incredibly big-headed, too big for my britches and some part of me just wants to shrink over to the corner and vanish into the wallboard instead of doing *this thing*, whatever it is.  There are times that I feel that Marianne Williamson quote (about being frightened of our own light, our own brilliance) taunting me, chasing me down the street, pointing and laughing.  I don't like it at all and I'd just as soon go iron a shirt, clean a toilet, or something incredibly, routinely and safely, mundane.

And yet...

One Sunday morning some years ago, I spoke at a Spiritualist Church in Houston.  A friend had asked me to speak on the Harmonic Concordance and I said, "Sure, why not?"  I didn't even know what it was, but I figured I could pull stuff together.  I had taught 7th grade earth science for two years, I could certainly do this.  So I started reading and studying and thinking and gathering information and nothing, absolutely nothing would come together.  There was no flow, no form, and no sense.  As the date got closer, I intensified my striving.  Finally the weekend of the talk rolled around and I still had nothing but jumbled words and I was beginning to really sweat over it.  The night before the Sunday morning talk, I had only the barest hint of anything and I felt like it was garbage.  The morning of the talk, I cobbled together some things, disjointed but adequate and I went and did the talk.  I was only relieved when it was over. 

And then, being a Spiritualist Church (a completely unknown commodity to me), the host, my friend, asked if anyone had received any messages for anyone else.  Several people stood and delivered messages.  I became fascinated, completely curious, about what I was observing.  Then this diminutive man in this three-piece brown polyester double-knit suit stood up with a message for me, the speaker.  So i stood up, as I had seen others do and he said something to the effect of, "You had three angels standing with you when you spoke; the biggest guardian angel I have ever seen, a scruffy drunk Irishman angel and a little blue haired fairy angel.  The Irishman angel was shaking his head sadly and said something like, 'she's never going to just trust and speak, that she will always have the words she needs.'"  I sat down dumbfounded and wrote his words down precisely.  I still have the feeling in my body.  Holy cow.  I heard that challenge, and responded.  Never again did I massively prepare a talk - even technical ones.  I'd do the charts and graphs and the ubiquitous Powerpoint slides, so I could show people what I had seen, but I never, ever wrote another talk.  And it has always worked.

Two owls are hooting outside with each other at this moment.  The cadence: one-and-two, three four ... who are you not to be?  As soon as I write these words, they stop talking to me.  This feels like a similar challenge and I don't know presently where it is headed.  With a knot in my stomach, I say 'yes'. 

You?