Love & Glitter

I Work For You

So, I got an "I'm subbing because I thought this was going to be fun but it's all about how messed up you are" message this morning.

I expected more than one after my raw, blubbery, in your face video of Friday's fame, but truth be told, it was the one and only one I got out of dozens of messages of appreciation and support. 

Fences were mended. Healing happened. People I *never* expected to hear from reached out with grace, which was not my intention at all, but felt like a nice little side of gravy on my already deliciously full plate of happy.

It feels like a little test. A little ball thrown by the Universe. So, Effy? You gonna walk that talk? 

Because, listen: it was not a necessary message, right? The unsubscribe link is right there. She (and she was a perfect stranger) could have just clicked it and voila! No more 'messed up Effy' in her inbox. I would have been perfectly within my right to hit reply and say something like "Was this necessary? Was it kind? Did you have to rain on my epiphany?"

But that's not how I *felt* about it. How I felt about it came in slow waves through my body as I reflected on how I should respond, and it was something like "Wow...well...obviously I don't work for you.  I'm happy you're going to find something that does!"

And I *really* meant it. 

Where once I would have shriveled up into a ball of shame and crawl off somewhere to die, this morning all I could think was "bless you". 

Messed up or not, I'll tell you this for nothing: I like who I'm becoming and I'm really glad that my way of being filters out the people who don't enjoy, need, or want what I'm doing in the world and draws closer those who do. 

I work for you. ♥

Coffee?

:)

In other news, I'm streaming live this afternoon at 1 p.m. EST. I have NO IDEA what I'm doing today. I'm going to let the spirit of Awen have it's way with me, but I bet you dollars to donuts that love and glitter will make it's way into the days program. 

Purely Good

Some days are full of groove and flow and joy and juice. Others are filled with slogging and trudging and gettin' 'er done. Still yet others are transcendant and ripe with epiphanies and connection. Some days are hard. Some days are purely good.

Okay, secretly I believe that all days are purely good. Even the hard ones. Because they all, without exception, lead me closer to the divine. 

I have entered a rhythm that rocks my bone boat. Whatever comes, comes. I can ride it. I  know what I am (a boat) and I know my purpose (to ride the waters of my life). I know that sometimes I will sink and sometimes I will fly. I know that each day will bring it's own unique set of possibilities. 

I'm good with it all.

This is what people talk about when they talk about inner peace, and given that I had the whole dark night of the soul thing over the last few months of 2011/first few months of 2012, I think I'm due. 

Let me rephrase that. 

I know I'm due. Worthy of this centered calm. Deserving of the love of my family and friends. A valuable part of my universe. Whole. 

Journal art takes me there. Not just the practice itself, but the community that has grown up around it. Like any community, there are factions and cliques. That doesn't interest me much. I could complain about the negative aspects, but I'd be complaining about something that exists in *all* communities the world over. What I'd rather focus on is what works. 

We work. 

We rock my poptarts. 

The teachers and mentors and newbies and veterans. The brave and the shy and the bold and the fierce. The ones who do it for love and the ones who do it because they have no choice and the ones doing therapy and the ones earning a living. The ones who scribble in crayon and the ones who master technique. The ones for whom journal art is secondary to their painting practice and the ones for whom journal art IS their practice. 

Beeeeeeeeeeauuuuuutiiiiiiiiful. 

And so it is.

***

I moved into my big book today. Here's what I made:

And here's the cover of my new "Book Of Days Volume Two"

I'm loving the size. It is so liberating. 

That's all I've got for ya. :)

xo

Effy

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Clarity Of Vision

After a week of searing headaches, I finally saw the eye doctor today, and it turns out I have reached that golden age when a girl needs bifocals.

Ouch! *lol*

Thankfully, there are progressive lenses that do not require me to walk around the world looking like a gramma. I'm *not* a gramma yet, and I would rather not be mistaken for one until I *am* one.

The nice young optometrist joked with me about it, which helped me feel better, and reminded me that the fact that my right eye does all the work when I'm wearing glasses (my left eye is useless unless I'm wearing my very uncomfortable contact lenses) has prematurely aged my eyes, and that most people can wait until mid-forties and beyond for bifocals. So, it's not that I'm old. It's that my right eye is exhausted!

And $589.00 later, I will have no more headaches once the new glasses (frames were only $89.00. The rest? The lenses. The incredibly expensive lenses!) arrive. 

*Shew* What a relief.

He also told me something else: there may be a 'cure' for my horrible vision and though it comes with a $7000 price tag, it is something I might consider when I win the lottery. Apparently, you can have your own biological lenses replaced with intraocular lenses. It's called 'lens implant surgery', and it is a viable option for people with vision as horrible as mine. 

I gawped at the price tag, but I admit I am wondering how long it would take me to save that much money. I've worn corrective lenses since I was 9, and my vision has continued deteriorating. I'm especially attached to my vision now that I work with visual things, and I would love to be free of the constant need for glasses.

He warned me, though, that even with the surgery I would probably need reading glasses for 'up close' stuff. 

ANYway...

I'm sure I'm boring you to death, so I'll stop talking about my eyes now. (With especial apologies to the Sisterhood, who have no doubt heard all this already. :D)

***

I streamed this past Sunday, and finished the cover for my volume II Book Of Days. I am *so excited* to be moving into a bigger book that will look and feel exactly as I envisioned it when I started the project. The smaller book was a great idea in theory because it wasn't in the least bit intimidating, but I want to paint *bigger*. I want super complex multi-day spreads. And I shall have it!

Anyway, in case you missed the stream and you'd like to watch, here's the video! It's pixelated (I'm working on that ~ I think it's a setting I've put too low), but you get the general idea. Alas, the boy child was not here to sing us in this week, but we had fun all the same. 

Broadcasting live with Ustream

I am totally loving my cover even though it feels a bit unfinished to me right now. I'll probably do somemore to it as I work in it in the weeks to come.  

***

I got a box today from the delightful Linda Robison, and dudes! It was a work of art in itself! I really didn't want to open it, but my curiosity about what was inside overcame my reluctance. Check this out:

This picture doesn't even begin to do this gorgeeeeosity justice. 

The box itself was crammed full of lovely stuff. Imagine decluttering your craft space. Now imagine tossing everything into a box and sending it to me. That's what this box felt like. A juicy, delicious, totally unexpected 'care package', as Linda called it. 

*Swooning*

***

My quietness here has come to an end. It has been difficult to blog without fearing that I'll turn people off with my 'stuff'. But my stuff is part of who I am, so if my stuff or reading about my stuff turns someone off, well...

...that's liberating, actually. Because I only want eyes on my life that *want to be on my life*.

Simple, right?

I had a series of epiphanies over the last couple of weeks while I was relatively quiet here:

Epiphany #1 (Brought on by watching Shiloh McCloud paint in The Red Madonna)

The divine dwells in the gap between who we wish we were and who we are in the present moment. I can be tempted to believe that if I just strive for that 'self in the distance', I will get there. But I'm learning this: The distance between the two, the depth of the chasm, the span of bridge we must build, shrinks as I reach, not for some future self, but for the divine within me. It isn't about *me* becoming anything. It is about recognizing what is already within me, and giving that divine self within me more and more space to dwell within and through me. 

Epiphany #2 (Brought on by watching services at http://agapelive.com)

There is only one life. We're all living it. 

I keep hearing this and it is resonating so strongly within me. Compassion increasing. Empathy overflowing. My life no longer about what *happens to me* but how I participate in the life we all share. 

Epiphany #3 (Brought on by the realization that my life has become completely drama free)

Drama is a choice we make. We can enter into it or we can flee like our lives depend on it. I have been successfully (perhaps for the first time in my life) turning my face away from that which doesn't serve my best self and turning joyfully toward that which does. I had no idea it was that simple, but it turns out it is. 

I could probably have blogged all that as it occured but fear stopped me. I'm ready to let love reign. 

Clarity of vision. I has it. (Even if only figuratively speaking!)

 

Pushing On Instead Of Pushing Back

I'm practicing taking ten deep breaths and censoring myself every two seconds in response to stuff I find challenging. I know that the majority of the people in my life (both personal life and wider Internetz life) are cool with me, and I know that focusing on those who aren't is a monumental waste of time. I know that what's best for me is to ignore ~ completely ignore without exception ~ the crap and focus instead on the love, the shiny, the work, the forward thrust toward what I want.

I'm also working on being less thorn and more rose in the world (which is kicking my ass!) and that is a worthy undertaking. 

But, (you saw that coming, didn't you?) being the control freak that I am, I have been desperately needing to do *something* while ignoring stuff. I have this uncontrollable need to process out loud what is happening in my life in a place where someone who might need to see it might see it. And in this very powerless feeling place, I need *something*, goddess help me, ANYTHING to give me the (okay, false but temporarily satisfying) sense that I am not powerless over teh Internetz Dramaz. 

So, yesterday, I was thinking about writing out what is known in recovery circles as a fearless moral inventory of all my failings and character defects and posting it here so people could just copy and paste it when they want to talk about me on the Intertubz.Then I thought I should write a blanket disclaimer using all the labels that have been applied to me. I considered erecting a page like the one over on Dooce.com  (one of my personal heroes) in which she has cleverly monetized the 'hate' that gets dumped in her comments and inbox on a regular basis. (It is a meme now, hating Dooce. I wonder if I will ever be that popular?)  

I decided against that, too, because who needs to be reminded of one's own bad press every time one goes to one's blog?

I spent three hours writing what can only be described as a venty screed. I let it all out. I did not hold back. I was feeling a lot liked I'd been wandering around like a battered wife holding her lips together and her guts in.

But that's awfully victimy, and I don't want to feed that either. So I deleted it. 

And then I decided to talk to a friend I trust, who helped me get perspective. And then she sent me this blog post, which seriously, you should NOT read if you are enjoying a beverage of any kind. 

(Go read it! You will laugh so hard your guts will hurt! I'll wait...)

So I read it and I laughed so hard my guts hurt, and I sent it to my husband who also laughed so hard he FARTED and we decided that $38.00 in shipping charges was not too much to own one of those $16.00 metal chickens. I whipped out the credit card and I ordered one and I'm now waiting to put it in my work space so every time I think "I should waste my time and energy fighting a battle that isn't even mine to fight" I will see said metal chicken and laugh my ass off. 

Perspective. I can has it. 

So, here's what I decided to do in the end. I decided to focus on the people I love. I decided to write an open letter to those who might be scared to act on their impulse to follow their dream because they saw someone else get lambasted on The Internetz. 

Dear Shiny Soul With Tender Dreams:

This whole Internetz Drama thing? It happens to a lot of people who start to get 'too big for their britches' according to those who would prefer you to stay small. It has happened to many 'big name' and 'small fry' mixed media artists. It has happened to many pagan community leaders, many poets, many content providers. Almost everyone gets hatemail. Almost every one gets bad press. Some get more than others depending on how controversial they are, or how hard they push back. It's not just you. It's not even about you. It's a part of the process. 

What I've learned so far is that the harder I push *back* the worse it gets, and the less energy I have to do my work. Pushing back is not only a waste of my time, but it feeds the very thing I *don't want in my life*. So don't push back. Learn from my mistakes. Ignore it. Seriously. Pay it about as much attention as it's worth: none. 

Chin up. Eyes on the prize. Push on instead of pushing back. Don't stop. Don't believe your own bad press. Listen to those who value you. Do your fearless moral inventories. Keep yourself in check. Admit to those who come to you with honest grievances when you have wronged them, but do not, for one second believe that some random, mean-spirited, vitriolic person on the Internet is entitled to ONE SECOND of your time, ONE TEAR from your eyes, ONE MOMENT of your consideration. 

Maybe everyone will abandon you because someone on the Internetz thinks they should but that's not what tends to happen. What tends to happen is that those who criticize your shiny things instead of spending their time and energy creating their own shiny thing attract to themselves exactly the kind of people you don't want anywhere near you, and they get to sit around talking about how awful you are. Meanwhile,  you get to do your work, create kick ass content, and hang out with the fun, self-aware, nonjudgey, thriving, glitter flinging, amazing, insightful, supportive, encouraging, gorgeous people that you *do* want in your life. 

The DramaLlama is an excellent gardner. It prunes your rose bushes. It dead heads your poppies. It weed whacks. If you let it do its work without pushing back, it will ensure that you are surrounded by the people who value you, appreciate you and support you in your work in this world.  

***

Now THAT was worth my time. 

Hallelujah.

Love & Glitter,

Effy 

 

On Rejection

One of the very best ways to get over feeling badly about 'being rejected' is to put yourself in a position where you will 'be rejected' often and with gusto. It used to hurt my feelings. Now, I rejoice that someone, having moved on from what I offer, has a better chance of finding their proper cup of tea! It's an amazing shift in perspective, and I'm extremely grateful for it. ♥

Soul Food

‎"When you extend yourself frenetically outwards, seeking refuge in your external image or role, you are going into exile. When you come patiently and silently home to your self, you come into unity and into belonging." ~John O'Donohue

I ' m Not Good At This Part

It is soooo weird putting myself out there in the way that I do. My past attempts at on line community building had definite boundaries between myself and the people I hoped to serve. As a literary magazine publisher, my only real contact with people was as editor. I read submissions, accepted or rejected them, created the magazine, put it on line, crashed for a week, and did it all again. That earned me a stalker who was unhappy with being rejected. They happened to live in the city I lived in at the time, and they terrorized me for a year, setting up a blog specifically to post about my activities, posting pictures stolen from my own blog and adding nasty captions, and making threats on my life and livelihood. I didn't quit making the magazine until I felt truly done with it for reasons unrelated to stalker-girl and her rage at receiving a rejection letter, but I did find my life very much changed by it in ways I won't go into here. Then, podcasting. Even less interaction with others. I recorded the cast, put it out there, got letters I could ignore if I chose. I didn't use my legal name, and only billed myself as being from 'Southwestern Ontario'. No stalkers, but having a public persona invites public scrutiny. People I met in person in my role as a podcaster were, for the most part, lovely, but there was a contingent of people who were envious of my relationships with people *they* wanted relationships with, and the rumors started flying about what a snob I was, how I was all ego and no substance, how I was only interested in 'big names'....etc. etc. Then there is the added bonus drama of being perceived as a community 'leader' and 'teacher' ~ roles I had no interest in to begin with ~ in a community that is in its infancy and full of  the crazy. I quit after being nicknamed the "Oprah of Podcasting". It was just...too much. Not the nicknamers fault, to be sure, but it squicked me out soooo badly to be thought of in that way. I didn't want to have any kind of influence that might lead to future liability. Remember The Fisher King? The movie with Jeff Bridges and Robin Williams? I had nightmares that I would say something that someone would take out of context and I'd be all over the news as the woman who caused the slaughter of a dozen innocent people because some crazy person took something I said to heart. Irrational? Probably, but it was a very dark time in my life. One would think I'd have learned my lesson, eh? By all rights, community building should be the last thing on my list of things to do for fun and leisure. I should be running in the opposite direction, hiding under a rock somewhere and never daring to put myself out there in anyway that might attract negative attention. And I'm tempted. Because this community building thing? It comes with a healthy (some might say heaping) dose of drama. And though I am just healthy enough to know it isn't necessarily about me, I am not healthy enough to experience it without feeling totally disappointed,  hurt, frustrated, angry, totally responsible, and ready to toss the whole thing out the window. When someone is unhappy with a choice I've made and then behaves in ways that are obviously designed to discredit me or cast the light of doubt on my intentions, it *slays* me. So that happened in a space I believed with all my heart could *never* produce such a thing. And I am slain and doing everything I can to pick myself up and dust myself off. But oh, slain is the Effy Bean! Silly, no? Wish me dragon scale armor to see me through? xo Effy

What A *Ficus Week

*Some of the girls and I decided, during a session of Church of Art that "Ficus" sounds like a really juicy curse word, so we've adopted it as such. Yes, we're a little on the crazy side, but we sure do have a lot of ficus fun. :) *** Hola!! What a week. Seriously. Monday, the sewer backed up into our house rendering the entire thing unlivable. Have you ever tried to live in eau de Porta-Potty? Don't. It is horrid. The city came out and removed the blockage, informing us that the issue is tree roots in the sewer pipe. They are coming out with a camera today that they will feed into the thing so we can establish whether they are responsible (tree on the other side of the property line) or we are responsible (beautiful magnolia in front of the house). I am, obviously, hoping for the former. Meanwhile, I had lots of emo over a friendship that ended six months ago. I cut a swathe through my life during that period, shook out the truth from the fakety-fake and let go of fool's gold. Something came over me, you know? I realized that my energy was better spent on the real thing. It wasn't easy, but it was necessary, and now I'm confronted with the high school version of 'how to deal with being dumped'. You know how it goes: whine and bitch and moan and slander and lie about the person that dumped you instead of graciously accepting that people grow out of one another all the time. It isn't the end of the world, our mutual friends don't give a shit, and no one is interested in picking sides. (Because, you know. We're not twelve.) The emo was weird. It was more about feeling sorry that my former friend couldn't move on than anything else. It was hard to watch her try to pull strings, manipulate the outcome without feeling like I should make some kind of public statement that let her off her own hook. "Yes, I dumped our mutual friend. Yes, I admit I bit off more than I could chew. Yes, I have difficulty maintaining long term relationships with borderline personalities. Yes, I'm totally fine with y'all thinking I'm a terrible person for 'abandoning' her. No, I don't believe there's anything 'wrong' with ending a friendship that isn't working for me, but you're welcome to disagree. No, you can't trust me to put up with anything, to sacrifice my own peace of mind for your sake, to be ridiculed, insulted, and used without responding with a resounding 'please ficus off'." I guess I'm just not a very nice person. (Thank the gods.) Thing is, once I realize that I'm no longer emotionally invested, that the scales have tipped towards feeling like I'm more fuel than friend, more ego stroke than ally, I stop caring much about what someone else thinks of me, so while the bait is a big fat dangly worm on a hook, I'm not biting. My sense of justice *wants* me to bite, but my cooler sense of 'I don't give a fuck' is refusing to let me go there. And the longer I go without responding, the more the ante is upped, the accusations get more outrageous, the more frantic the attempts to control. I've come to the point where even the last shred of 'checking on her to make sure she's still alive' type of concern has utterly waned. I'm better off not knowing, and I've put measures in place to make it easier to avoid 'coming across' stuff that will only make me twisty. Still. It ain't easy. One of the hardest things about being an adult child of an alcoholic is that one feels one is responsible for everyone but oneself. As I began to recover, I began to see that some of my relationships were really toxic, and I did something about it. I don't expect people to be overjoyed about it, but six months later and we're still talking about this? *Eye roll* And in the interest of full disclosure: I *do* suck at long term relationships. I do have trouble maintaining and nurturing friendships. I do find it easier to connect with people in such a way that I can walk away when I'm overwhelmed. I do come to a point where I have a shut off valve and yes, when I'm done, I'm fucking done. I haven't decided yet if that makes me 'sick' or 'dangerous' or 'threatening' or 'fake' or 'sociopathic', but I'll tell you this for nothing: It makes me *safe* from sticking around for dessert when the main course has been so deplorably, utterly foul. My chooser has been broken all my life. I have trusted too soon, and felt so honoured to have anyone's friendship that I never asked myself "but, Effy? Do you *like* this person? Does this person bring joy and laughter and love into your life or do they bring drama? Are you sure about this person's mental health? Are they a sucking vortex of need or will this be a relationship in which there is give and take? Are they honest? Do their values align with yours?" No. I just threw myself at their feet, thankful for their time and attention. The consequences of this are that as I began to grow, as I began to recognize my own worth, I *did* start to ask myself the hard questions. And the conclusions I came to meant that some people needed to be ousted ~ not out of hatred or malice, but simply because I only have so much to give and I want to give it where it's actually doing some good/not draining me/not enabling someone else's addictions or bad behaviour. Hallelujah. Let us move the ficus on. *** There was a tornado warning here yesterday. I'd like the rest of the week to be utterly drama free, mmkay?   Mmmkay. xo Effy

Snowed

One of the most damaging things my family of origin did when I was a child was to insist, if someone liked me or if a person in authority in any way took my side was to insist that I must have 'snowed' them. In my family, to 'snow' someone was to convince them that I was exactly who they thought I was. If someone thought I was authentically good, I must have 'snowed' them. If someone gave me a compliment that wasn't related to my physical appearance, I must have 'snowed' them. If someone believed that I had problems due to the sexual abuse I experienced in childhood, I must have 'snowed' them. If someone believed that I wasn't lazy, stupid, bad, provocative, or any of the other epithets my mother and step-father gifted me with over the years, I must have done one hell of a 'snow job' on them. I live with the consequences of that particular brand of abuse to this day. Even now, at 42, if someone likes me, respects me, likes what I'm doing or expresses admiration for me, I feel a tickle of fear in the back of my consciousness that I must have 'snowed' them. They can't possibly be seeing the 'real' me. They are sadly disillusioned. As a result of this 'tickle', I also devalue my work very, very badly. I often fail to see what the big deal is. Can't anyone do what I do? Isn't this just a fluke? Aren't I just lucky? In digging into this today, I am coming to realize that the old 'snowed' line my parents used to hand me whenever I experienced anything truly good (a good mark, accolades with regards to a talent, compassion from a counselor) is still with me and it stands in the way of my relationships with people. I never *really* trust most people. I never *really* believe that I am truly loved/liked/appreciated for my gifts, talents, or being. I never *really* feel worthy of compliments, admiration, or respect. Thankfully, I have a really good head on my shoulders, and when it isn't triggered and twisty, it knows that far from being a true statement, the line "you must have snowed them" was emotional abuse, pure and simple. It was cruel. It was not applicable. It is not applicable now. This is what I'm going to be working on for a little while: If you say you like/admire/respect/love me, I'm going to sit with it. I am going to reject that awful 'snowed 'em' line of reasoning and I'm going to prevail over it with love and compassion for the younger self in me that could do nothing more than believe whatever issued out of the mouths of her childhood gods. xo Effy

Resistance Is Futile

But I experience it nonetheless. You know how it is. There are things you know you need to be doing, and yet, you do not do those things. In my case, the 'thing' is reading and working through the stack of books on the shelf beside the red leather couch. "Codependent No More" and "Adult Children of Abusive Parents". I've got a notebook all ready and waiting for my ever copious note taking (honest to bog, I might as well just paraphrase entire books, that's how many notes I take) and one of my favourite Bic pens with purple ink. I have a candle and incense waiting to be lit while I 'work'. I have the desire. But the resistance! Oysh. My current excuse is "I have too much to do" which isn't far from the truth. Today, I have to write to everyone who volunteered themselves as clients for my coaching practice, do a coaching practice call, and attend class at 8 p.m. and then there's everything that needs doing for the studio and the house. It is easy to feel overwhelmed and the first thing that gets struck off my list of things to do is, obviously, the hard emotional self-care stuff. So. Resistance. I hates it. Because the truth is I waste more energy thinking about it and planning to do it and worrying about fitting it in and resisting it than I would expend if I just gave myself time to sit and freakin' do it. You know? So... I guess I'm here to confess because confession is good for the soul. I'm doing good work. I really am. And lots of changes are already taking effect in my life, but I could be going a lot deeper if I could get over this lumpy hump of 'don't wanna'. Gimme a swift kick in the arse? :D xo Effy