Bumps In The Road

The Bitter Spiritualist is experiencing a few bumps in the road. The Universe in all her beauty has given me an opportunity to get in touch with some anger.

My computer was infected with the trojan virus. Crafty little fellow that creeps around telling me my computer is infected and that i need to download software to fix it.

I am happy to report I am using some of the tools we've discussed. Just wrote a brilliant anger letter.

Please check back, I will posting again in no time. And if you feel inclined send some love to my sickly computer.

Double Digits!

The Bitter Spiritualist is happy to report double digit followers! TEN! Thank you all, and to those countless millions reading but not becoming a follower on record, don't be shy join the fun. I have no idea what that means or entails, but boy does my ego like to be stroked.

Don't fret my faithful followers, another post later today. An introduction to another member of Team Bitter Spiritualist.

The Universe in all her beauty has blessed The Bitter Spiritualist with some technical difficulties, inside and out. I'm going to kick a puppy and steal candy from a baby as in payment to The Universes blessing.

Stay tuned..........

Abundantly Broke!!

Today my beautiful car went on a little field trip to visit her Swedish countrymen.

She had been crying for some attention. Her green tears first noticed in a pub parking lot, on St. Patrick's Day. The IRE sticker was insult, this an outrage. She had had enough. I would refill her ducts and she would cry even more. This went on for weeks. Then the crying became sobs, her reservoir could not be filled enough. I pleaded with her, just stop the tears for a little while longer, let me get a paycheck and then I will seek professional assistance.

Alas her tears pained me so, her temperature rising I had no choice, she needed help. I had no idea where the money was going to come for said help, yet she needed some lovin'. I got the news, she needed a new water pump and thermostat. Gulp! How much? Wow, that much? You can't use some duct tape and sealant? No. Do what you gotta do. I kicked around, feeling poor, feeling weak. Worried how the money was going to come. My focus myopic and mundane. A fine mess I've gotten myself into.

Fucking foreign car! Fucking Bush. Fucking School. Fucking Universe. I hate having no money. I hate being poor. Fucking Bankers! Fucking credit scam! Fucking Volvo! Fucking Idiot. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! The blame game at full throttle. Then a vision came to me, by vision I mean mailman, pardon, letter carrier. Heard him more than saw him. Maybe I can pay for my car today. Off to the mailbox, come on baby, let there be a check in there. Desperation; fear; the cringe as I realize that if there's not a check in there I'm going to have to borrow money. Again. And then I stopped myself. Literally stopped myself in my tracks, took in a breath.

Do I want to attach all this gunk, all these fears to my poor mailbox? To one check? I need to use a few of my tools! What an opportunity to make a different choice or two. And what's all this about being poor? I'm not poor. Broke sure, not poor.

I have never been more broke than I am right now. I could make failed attempts at the blame game ~ See above. Fucking Bush! ~ but I take full ownership of where I am right now. And why wouldn't I? I'm Broke!! Abundantly Broke! I have not been this happy in years, maybe ever. I feel richer today than when I had my coffers overflowing with cash.

In the past I've been poor, which is very different than being broke. Sure they hang out together, yet they are not the same. To me poor is a state of mind, a state of being. There's never enough. The world seems a drab shade of gray. Being poor is not fun. Being broke has it's moments, like today when I worried about how I was going to pay for my car repairs, yet I am light years away from being poor.

Broke is just a stop on the journey of life. Sure I have no money, but I am appreciating all that I do have. Great friends who will feed, clothe, and house me if need be. A beautiful apartment near the beach(Fuck where is the rent going to come from!). A loving supportive family. My health. A fancy foreign car. The list is endless. I'm not poor at all, I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. I just don't have any money right now. What an opportunity to live in abundance.

Back to my great mailbox adventure. With a new mindset, a little more optimism, I strolled out to the front yard. Keys in hand, tune in heart I open the box. Surprise! A beautiful thin white envelope, not a bill this time, an honest to goodness check. Enough to pay for the repairs, and even some left over. I ain't broke, I am rich!

Yes I am ready for some more income. Money doesn't buy happiness, but then again it's not the root of all evil. You hear me Universe?! I'm ready for some currency flowing my way. And I am so grateful for all you have provided for me. I'm ready for more!

I'm not saying that the check wasn't going to be there if I hadn't take that moment. Then again I ain't saying it would have been there if I hadn't.

What I do know is the slightest shift in my focus and I was filled with gratitude, not despair. Full of promise instead of hopelessness. Full of riches, not empty pockets.

Now I'm off to my Yankee voodoo doll. I'm not saying that I'm the reason the Sox are going to sweep this weekend. But then again, I'm not saying I'm not the reason for the sweep. Go Red Sox!

Love, light and a chilly Budweiser.

Bitter Spiritualist Disclaimer!

My people are angry. Angry enough to make signs!

As newbie into the blogging world, I read other bloggers. They are writing of quantum mechanics, how to be of service to your fellow man, Peace in the Middle East, a sure fire way to meet your soulmate. Big stuff. And the great ones touch my heart, inspire me, their eloquent words shared with such grace, wisdom and insight. And some have fancy titles. Fancy degrees. Homes in Malibu and Maui. Teach self help seminars. Are motivational speakers. Scaled Everest, blindfolded. Won an Academy Award, a Nobel Prize, and a Pulitzer all while blogging from an orphanage in Africa. Written 12 books, translated into 87 languages. They were on Oprah man!

And I read some of my earlier posts and it looks like I'm on easy street. I got this life thing figured the fuck out. A man with a plan. A spiritual ninja, a self help warrior. Problem comes up, tool bag comes out. Shazam! Solved. Thank you Universe, I am your vessel! Even more enlightened than before. Happy as a pig in shite. Oh how I need to share this with my people.

My post written. Another day another life lesson. Brilliant! Let me read it one more time. Mr. Positive overcoming another issue. Being supported by The Universe. The Bitter Spiritualist coming to a theater near you. Skipping on down the road, whistling a merry jig. Beautiful. Inspiring. Print it! Oprah here I come sister.

Then it hits me. This overwhelming feeling that I'm a fraud; that I am just talking the talk. Fuck I hate those people. I'm sitting here in my one bedroom apartment. Sucking on a lung dart. Stuffed to the gills on Chinese food. Nary a penny to my name. Debts no honest man can pay*. Two hundred bucks worth of Tony Robbins CDs still shrink wrapped in the bookcase**. Worrying about being liked (loved?). Going to bed alone, possibly after some Internet porn, okay likely. Bouts of doubt and misery. Hours still spent avoiding, in all it's beautiful manifestations. Sox ~ Yankees baby! And I'm giving people pointers on how to live a fulfilling life?

I'm not even original. Even this post isn't original. Triggered in part by my inspiration to start blogging thinking I stole her idea. And looking at it, it does look like I pinched the idea. I can sit here and justify things (times, dates, witnesses, refrences), yet some part of me obviously feels guilty. Fucking Catholics and our guilt! I just want to shut down, hide in the weeds.

And I'm writing a blog? And sharing some life tools? Who am I? This is being done by much more qualified people. Why would anyone listen to me, a piss poor bitter thieving arrogant cunt?

Don't.

Anything that seems like advice, my pardon. Anything I claim to be original, has been done before. I've wrote it once, I'll write it now, I'll write it later. This is an experiment. I'm just arrogant enough to want to share it with you. Come on, why have an insecure moment, a true emotion, a thought and not share it with the world? I'm compelled to do this right now. Maybe I am a fraud. Fuck it, I'm going to revel in my fraudliness.

It's all practice. This post? Practice. What did I just practice? Writing; a little ownership of my fears, my doubts, my joy, that I don't have all the answers; sharing some insecurities, always a good one for me to practice; practiced keeping commitments to myself and to my reader(s); practiced standing on my own two feet; some honesty; a little compassion....I know there's more, those are some damn good ones.

And now let me practice a little prizing. Nice work! Job well done! Nice tie in to the last post. Fucking genius.

Good night.

*Springsteen lyric
**Pattison lyric

Practice?!

PRACTICE.

The word has been coming into my life quite a bit in recent days. Every where I turn it's been in my face. Sports stories, articles, bits of conversation, signs, practice leaps out at me. In the past practice was something I wasn't very good at. Playing sports as a handsome young lad, practice was more about making the guys laugh than learning. Later in life I never really practiced anything. I still don't.

Last night I traveled out of my overheated lair to a flick, "Enlighten Up", and practice was everywhere. It's the filmmakers journey to see if yoga practice can change someones life, enlighten them. An avid yoga practitioner herself, she picks this likable non-spiritual guy to begin yoga practice. Never mind his mother is a Shamanic healer, he's non-spiritual. The pull of his mothers' influence and his attorney fathers' is a nice line through the film.

Midway through or so, the two are in India traveling from yogi to yogi, seeking out answers. And there it was, caught on tape. A sign "Believe". And not just any sign, but a Red Sox sign. And you know I love a good sign from The Universe. The filmmaker is from Boston, she saw the signs, went for it, got her movie into a theater and me into a seat. Not too fucking shabby.

I've taken a few things from that sign. One I want to go to a yoga class, wanted to go for awhile, but haven't gotten myself there. And two, yes, practice. Not necessarily yoga, not likely, yet I'll report back after I do attend a class. The film brings up the idea of practice as way of getting closer to god. I'd never really thought about practice that way.

I suppose I do practice a few things, well at least try to practice a few things. Meditation, prayer, checkmarks, being kind to others ~ I'm reaching here, I didn't say I practiced a lot of things, very well. And I do believe those are ways of connecting to god.

So instead of the ability to knot myself ~ Which I'm okay with not having on my resume. Dating women with that ability on their resume, another story. ~ Why don't I put practice into other things in my life? Things that give me joy; That let me live in abundance; That get me closer to God.

Because it can be a fucking pain in the ass, that's why! And sometimes I just want to fuck off. Get lost in the fog of LA. Whine about my cards. Be hopeless, stuck, lazy, spoiled, shy....blah, blah, blah..... Thankfully those days are fewer and fewer. They were exactly what I needed to get right here. Now I need to bring practice into my life. No brainer on where I'm starting my practice. I've already started it. Now it's time for some serious stretching practice. Sweat puddle, ass crack showing, palms to the floor practicing.

I am a practicing writer! Everything is practice. Just writing it is freeing. This ain't no final curtain call, it's practice. Maybe Allan Iverson was on to something. In the past I'd been a non-practicing writer, a dabbler more than a practitioner. I am ready to learn, ready to fall splat, ready face some fears, some demons and become a practice-er. A committed practioner.

There's a few other things I want to start practicing. One commitment at a time.

Dutch Oven Madness

It makes me laugh every time it is said. Dutch Oven. Just laughed typing it. Love the Dutch Oven. Laughed again.

A few definitions are in order. THE Dutch Oven that makes me laugh is an age old trick. You are in bed with your significant other, or a $25 hooker for that matter. Snug as bugs. Then you pass some gas and pull the blankets over their head. Sealing them in nicely to marinate in the stick that is you.

I am happy to report that I've never attempted the Dutch Oven (laugh). Nor has it been attempted on me.

The other Dutch Oven (laugh), the one I experienced this week is an instrument of magic. Cast in iron for our cooking enjoyment. It's wielders, true masters.

I have been a fan of watching people cook for most of my life. I like watching people do a lot of different things, hence my challenge to actually do, and not just watch. My early television memories involve Julia Childs and Jaques Pepin on PBS. Loved Geoff Smith ~ The Frugal Gourmet, I even liked him after he badmouthed the corn beef at Doyle's in Boston, and was accused of diddling a few boys. Man could that pederast cook.

I loved how much they loved to create, and how much they loved to share their wisdom. They could put all these random things together and come up with something completely different, something magical. I still love to watch. The Food Network is amazing. Yet another reason I don't have cable, I'd get nothing done. They really figured it out. Giada Di Laurentis? Hot chick cooking for me? Brilliant. Genius. Yes I did hate it when she introduced her husband on the show. I'm sure he's a great guy, but it really broke my fantasy.

I have great memories of watching her cook with my Dad. It was an afternoon stop for us during our day. I was staying with my parents, helping care for him while cancer ravaged his body. Never his Spirit! Sure we really wanted to know how to cook pasta, it had nothing to do with her low cut tops. Nothing! My late brother even worked for the network in its early stages. Hmmmmmm.....Maybe I should stop watching, seems a wee hazardous to the men in my family.

Luckily I have stopped! Okay it is my must watch when staying anywhere with cable, but I don't get out much so I think I'm safe. And I have created some amazing cooks that happened to be friends. Sure they are a bit more surly than their on air counterparts, but the love they emanate is the same. Such enthusiasm, exploration, teamwork....A beautiful communion of friends creating deliciousness.

This weekend I was introduced formally to the Dutch Oven (smile). A true melting pot. Chicken? Throw it in! Sausage? In. Along with everything under the sun. Now I'm not the cook remember, so I don't have any recipes. I can tell you two different kinds of fruit juice went in. Chicken, sausage and fruit juice? Okay I'll trust you. What they created, I don't have a vocabulary big enough to describe. Nirvana. Bliss. Amazing. And I don't even like chicken. Then it was a peach cobbler. Cripsy, gooey, sugary, buttery.......Oh I want some now. And a beef stew fit for a king. Everything cooked all day, possibly all night. Slow, an opportunity to stop and smell the dessert flowers.

All done in an archaic cast iron pot. On coals from real firewood. In the desert. At an out of the way campsite. Stews may not be the what you think of in 100 degree heat, but wow.....Ahhh yeah, look up mastery and these cooks will be there, somewhere. Possible under the 10 Most Wanted, but they will be there.

These masters of meat are to me a great example of love in action. The time, creativity, devotion and practice they share is love. Pure bliss, and for that I am grateful and pleasantly plump.

As I sit here attempting to end this, I'm wondering where the point is in this post. Then I realized I just wanted reminisce and savor their creations. Perhaps inspire myself to start cooking more! I'm off to burn some toast.

(Pictures to follow. I promise they are worth checking back for.)

Happy Patriots Day

The Bitter Spiritualist is taking the day off from a proper post to celebrate Patriots Day. It's Massachusetts way of say you are most welcome for our courage and strength. Also a way for us to practice our stellar humility. So humble Massholes can be.

The Red Sox won! The Celtics and Bruins will win later today. And (now this is a guess, I've not checked yet) two people from Kenya won the Boston Marathon. Maybe Ethiopia or Botswana or Nigeria, but definitely Africans. Great athletes from there. Think of them as the Bostonians of Africa.

Have a Happy Patriots Day!

Tune in tomorrow. Dutch Oven madness!!!

Hot Chicks Cooking Bacon -- The Video

Doesn't that sound like something you'd love to watch. I know I could watch for hours. Maybe even cook some bacon to get surround-smell going. Mmmmmmmmm bacon. Well I don't have any video posted yet. But it is another promise I intend to keep.

While rereading some of my posts and cringing at them, hot chicks cooking bacon leaped off the page. Why I have no idea, where this is going, again no idea.

I can see the casting note now -- "Bikini model wanted. Must be adept in a kitchen. Comfortable with grease burns. Jews and Muslims need not apply"

The idea of breakfast, beginning your day, is one that I love. In the past my breakfast may have been at noon, but it was still the beginning of my day. Depression will do that to you.

Most of my mornings start with coffee with my neighbor. It's one of the rituals I love when I'm not working. We share a laugh and get hopped up on caffeine. Talking with him helps me get a better handle on what I want to accomplish for my day. Or in the past, what I was going to avoid for that day.

Okay now I now where this was going, sorta. I love those serendipitous moments in life. The Avid Outdoorsman is going camping this weekend, that is what he does. The Bitter Spiritualist very rarely camps. He's more a five star hotel type of guy, living on a Motel 6 budget.

So I'm writing about breakfast and I get a call about procuring items for breakfast. Sure I could write it off to coincidence, but I don't see the world that way. Everything, and I mean everything, happens for a reason. It may not be what I want, but it gets put into my face for a reason. It's a beautiful dance of synchronicities, sometimes i look and own it, other times, unhealthier times, I yell scream and blame.

So lets look at why I was writing about breakfast and i get a call about breakfast. Here's my quick take on it. I was feeling like, wow I am going to share this blog with more people today and all I can come up with is about breakfast, that and hot chicks cooking it. Wasn't even sure if I was going to post it. There are a lot of rejects. And if you read any of my posts you can imagine how moronic you have to be to get into the reject pile.

So as I was questioning this post, this blog, my talent, why am I doing this. Going to quit for the morning, and then RING RING. Okay my phone doesn't have that cool ring, but you get the idea. The Universe calling, we heard you were questioning things, going to quit, so we thought we call and remind you to keep on going. Keep doing what it is your doing. Don't worry, don't question, just do.

Really that's what it told me. Very cool. The guy who called me, let's call him Dick, never calls me in the morning. Never. But today he suddenly does, to talk about breakfast, while I'm typing about breakfast. Calling that a coincidence is a stretch for the toughest doubters. Yet I'm sure they could do it.

Not me. Thanks Universe for the wake up call. I am very grateful. Funny how angels come in all shapes and sizes. This one just happened to be heavily mustachioed and a bit crazy.

Off to procure breakfast deliciousness and have some pep juice.

Dear Fuckface!

Today is a beautiful day. One of those days that makes me appreciate life, and more poignantly appreciate all the other days that I don't feel like this.

I am happy to report that days like this are fewer and fewer. I want to shut down. Grab some whiskey and leave my body and mind. Hey it's still morning so I may still dive in the Jamenson and get rip roaring drunk. Be melancholy and think about how my life sucks, how I can't get what I want. Wah, wah, wah.......

We all have triggers in life. Today mine is a lady, a beautiful lady who rejects me at every turn. Well after accepting me and loving me, then she rejects me. Always her answer is "I told you I didn't want to be in a relationship". And yet we talk numerous times during the day, share, love, have such a wonderful connection on many levels. But she did tell me. It's like dealing with a fucking lawyer.

I'm not blaming her. Even in my little pity party here I blame no one, not even me. I take full responsibility for my life. Oh I want to blame, I want to yell. Yet another example of the bitter in The Bitter Spiritualist. Ownership tastes like shit today.

Fucking ownership of my life! Does that suck sometimes. Yeah, yeah, it's beautiful, it's freeing, it empowering, but it can suck the life right out of me. In the past I would shut down, not anymore. Hmmmmmmmmmmm.........What to do with this anger? More of a rhetorical question there. I am going to write an anger letter.

An anger letter you say! What's that? Well inside of me is all of this bile just waiting for the trigger to appear. If I drove anywhere right now I know I'd be screaming at the cunt who didn't use a directional. Hey maybe get into an honest to goodness donneybrook. It's been awhile since I've felt that satisfying feeling of my fist against someones face. And would I let some anger out. In such a very unhealthy way, for me and those around me.

So I write a letter instead. Important to put pen to paper, no typing. I am going to write lots of mean nasty stuff. About lots of things. Whatever comes up. Sure this morning I already anticipate a star in my anger letter, but it's not about them. No one but me is going to see this letter. I am not going to even read the letter when I'm done. I'm going to burn that bile. Send it out to The Universe to be cleansed. It will be out of me, then I can go get something to eat. After releasing all this junk I know there will be some space for a cheeseburger.

Well I better post this and get to work. Fucking anger letter!

Thank You God

Well I wrote her a letter and she got back to me in a big way. I knew she could take all I could give her and more. The outpouring of support I received from my post yesterday was beautiful.

To my loyal masses. I thank you for you continued love and support. I may seem like I am going off the deep end, some of you may think I have already dove in, yet I can assure you all that I am fantastic. These wounds that come up are there to be healed. Yes I do revel in them from time to time, use them to beat myself up, but those moments are becoming fewer and fewer. And a little fire is just what I needed yesterday.

Today my heart fills with gratitude to you all. Maybe that's why I wrote my post yesterday, a reminder that I am not alone. And God shows her face everywhere I am.

So thank you. I will keep up the good fight. I'm sure there will be some more aches and pains, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

And to keep with my promise of transparency in our blog experiment, to date the Bitter Spiritualists has made $20.09. Brilliant! It's a start, I know the Universe will provide heaps more. It is truly remarkable, to go from an idea that I pinched and never thought I'd have the courage to share, to now earning money for it. I am supported and loved. And yes the staff here at the BS will all get there fair share.

I may one day write of puppies, but I will remain,
Bitter

The Beauty of the Box

No not that Box, get your mind out of the gutter. Okay maybe it was just my mind in the gutter.

I'm talking about the box I put beside every item on my To Do list for the day. For years I had been a crosser outer. Each task was something arduous, something that I had to complete so I could cross it off my list. Whew another thing I don't have to do anymore. And my lists had a lot of things not crossed off. Just writing the list was a momentous task.

Then one day my friend Lis gave me a gift. The gift of checking off things. CHECK! A job well done. A task complete. A gold star for myself from myself. And funny, my lists became easier to write. AND the items on my list became accomplishments, things started getting checked left and right. Wow, I am actually becoming a productive member of society! Who knew that could be possible.

I stare down at my list for today. Twelve items. That's a lot for me, I usually like to make it as small as possible. Not out of laziness (well not totally), but out of a not wanting to let myself down. In the past I broke a great deal of the commitments I made to myself. Not anymore baby. So twelve items and once I post this I will have eight checkmarks. That's a job well done and it's still the afternoon!

And I get to look at days past, observing what has worked and what hasn't been as successful. No more lines through my writing, it's all gold. Sure some of it ain't 14 karat, but it still has a shine. And I like me some shiny things.

So I am going to send this out into the tubes and make another checkmark.

Job Well Done!

The Zen of The Return

I have been the receiver of a lot of shite I don't need, and I am grateful for that. They're gifts after all and I love free stuff. I say yes to almost everything offered me. And I ask for what I need. I'm not a buyer, I'm just not. Here and there sure, but I'm off the grid. Even in flush times I'm just not a buyer. I want to start being a buyer. I am ready to buy my own block of cheese.

In the past I just took what came to me. Sure minor infractions on the road and I'd be screaming out my window, but cold coffee and a hair in my eggs and I'd say nothing. Pants mis-marked, now culottes I'll never wear? I'd just put them on the shelf for a few years til I got to giving them to Goodwill. Never The Salvation Army, always Goodwill, but I digress.

I've spent a lot of years wearing short pants and eating a shitty breakfast. Today it stops! MY PANTS ARE TOO SHORT, MY COFFEE IS COLD AND I'M MAD AS HELL AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE.

I deserve long pants! I deserve hairless eggs and hot, but not too hot, coffee. I am asking for what I want now. And not just at Burger King, everywhere. Mostly I am asking it of myself.

Time to return some habits that no longer serve me. Time to return my sloth for some commitment. Definitely need to return a lot of old beliefs for some new ones. My goals? Too short, gotta return them for an upgrade. My ego? Way too big, a bit of love fits perfectly. My insanity? Nope that fits fine.

Now comes the next step. Figuring out what exactly I want. Gulp..... Tonight I want the days last cigarette, a few pages from my book and some sound sleep. Okay a couple of more hacks off leftover birthday cake, then the smoke and bed. Possibly two smokes, the cake and bed.....

So far so good.

Eat A Block of Cheese As Big As Your Head

In my aforementioned hike, The Avid Outdoorsman was shown a brilliant lesson in life.

My teacher this time? A chihuahua I believe. Some little rat thing that could have been some little vermin, a weasel, you know, a kick dog. His name was Spike. Oh and how I laughed at the irony of naming a little dog Spike. It's like calling a fat guy Skinny, a tall guy Shorty. Genius I know, Spike?!

So Spike came over to our bench with his parents and some other two legged friends. He was sniffing around our dinner table, but I deemed the food as safe. First of all, I had notice yet didn't really care, we were finished eating. And secondly this little thing couldn't even get to it. Not for a lack of effort, just a lack of height.

I stood there half listening to my friends chat up our visitors. Blah, blah, blah, wine? Spike and his efforts were the real draw for me. Getting himself so close to the cutting board, he could see his prey. A wedge of Gouda, waiting for the taking. Sure enough he lunged for it, grabbed it and was off. The block of cheese was bigger than his head. Knowing a wee bit about cheese and all it has to offer, I thought, hmmmmm, maybe that's a little too much cheese for him. I cornered the little fella and went for the cheese. My momma didn't raise no morons, so when he nipped at my fingers I was done. Have the cheese buddy! And eat he did, he had half of it down by the time his Dad could get a hold of him and the cheese.

What a lesson from Spike. Go for what I want. Sure some things seem WAY too big, but you never know how much you can handle until you grab hold. Did Spike judge that it was too much cheese for such a little dog? No I say, he grabbed that wedge and was off. Pure enjoyment! Did he wonder what that cheese would do to his innards? Nope, just started powering it down.

I need to go for what I want! Grab the whole wheel of cheese. And I'm lactose intolerant! Fuck it, just do it. Yes a cliche that's sold millions of sneakers, but so true for me. I've spent a lifetime thinking things through to the end. And if I think something enough, I don't even have to do it.

So I'm off to grab some cheese.

The Avid Outdoorsman

What a great way to connect to Spirit. A walk in nature. The Bitter Spiritualist has many sides, The Avid Outdoorsman is one of my favorites. Sure most of my wildlife is viewed in a pub, but I really feel connected when I let the Outdoorsman have some fun.

Last night I hiked up a magical trail near my home with some even more magical friends. I love this picture and wanted to post it to all my loyal loving fans.

I am off for an adventure in nappy nap land.

Reframing - Thank you DMV

No this is not an April Fools post. The DMV gave me such a beautiful lesson I thought I'd share.

My car has not been registered for quite some time. I couldn't afford the insurance and was lazy. And believe me I've paid for this sin time and again. I have a heap of tickets and fines as receipt of the my failure to properly register my car.

Well it's a whole new me and I have the money and the motivation to get my car street legal. After waiting at the DMV for quite some time my number was finally called. Well the woman helping me (I use helping very generously) tells me I have to call the DMV headquarters to get approval. The same people who told me I was okay to go and get this all fixed. Needless to say I walked out of the DMV registration-less and pissed off.

I mean really pissed off. The guy who pulls in front of me I want to punch in the face. The woman at the post office gets a glare that could melt iron. I am on fire. "Fucking California" "Fucking DMV." "Why does this shit always happen to me!" "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, I fucking hate you all, fuck". I was on fire, shaking with anger, ready to punch anyone, really ready.

Then it came to me, a few tears at first, then a wave of gratitude. Thank you for waking me up DMV lady!

I had really been in a fog, buzzing through my day with little feeling, little focus and no enthusiasm. Boy did she help me get in touch with my emotions and wake me up. I gotta tell ya, from one of those "kill them all" mornings my day became brilliant. I was getting things done, creating, people were reaching out to me for work. I mean I was on fire, not the fires of destruction, the fires of creating.

Issues come and go. They will always be there. It's how I relate to the issues. What I chose to do with what is put in front of me. Sure I could have stayed pissed at the DMV. Hell I was even justified (a little), but do you think they cared if I was mad or not? She forgot about me moments after I left I'd bet.

So next time I someone gives me a smack in the face, I know I will smile. Why did this happen? Why did I bring this into my life? What does The Universe want me to look at? It's a whole lot better than getting my ass arrested for assault.