Learning, learning, learning

I have learned some ways that get me into the vortex.  I want to be in the vortex as I write this so I want to practice some of what has worked for me and make sure I’m in.  Laughter, fun giggles of appreciation for another’s personality works.  I thought of D saying that he worked nude in the house.  He was talking of acting as chef, and I know he knew that would throw me.  (Of course, I never let on, except in all those subtle ways I need better practice controlling.)  And, less than an hour ago as I was nearly asleep in a nap, this picture came to mind of R lying beside me, nose to nose, to talk.  He’s one of my Guidance Team (on the other side) so I have to believe he can get in any position he wants, any time he wants.  He often cracks me up!

This morning I wanted to work on getting into the vortex before I got up and got into prayer first.  I haven’t done that for the longest time because my earliest prayer is usually the one on my knees.  As a child I learned the four steps of prayer are greeting, thanks, asking, and closing.  The last three or four weeks, I’ve made it a conscious act to list at least ten things I’m thankful for right then.  Wow, did that get me in this morning!  I’m blessed to know I can lie there and speak out loud because I’ve found that for me in my experience I focus better when I hear myself.  Abraham says that focus and concentration is work and it certainly is for me.

Things have changed quite drastically for my son in the last two or three days.  I feel the very best thing that I can do is manifest my vision.  So, am I in the vortex?  It seems not or I would not feel so hesitant.

I’m going to write about my son.  I am so grateful for him.  Leave it to a mother to think about giving him birth.  I remember thinking about how hard he worked turning himself in the womb preparing to exit.  It seemed unimaginable and yet I could feel him.  I was a day short of turning twenty-five years old, he was my first, he was still a fetus and yet I could feel him working.

When he had just turned eight we learned he had a chronic illness – a plague for anyone else who has it also.  He learned how to deal with it and care for himself with no complaints, no self-pity.

He is no saint, my son.  Far from it and I’ve mentioned already he tends and leans towards those younger, behaving younger, etcetera.  But he has proven to me how much he’s willing to do and give to me when I am in need.  He made an eight hour drive at the sacrifice of his job and his wife and children to take me out of a hospital in another state and extricated me from my home when I could not function well enough to tell him what to get for me.  He convinced me to drive my little Toyota back with him, following him when I was in that scared place of clinical depression when many (or am I the only one; surely not) can only wring their hands and moan.  As frightening as driving in the mountains in the dark in that state was, the most horrifyingly, agonizingly fearful part was driving into Phoenix with the sun rising directly into our eyes.  I had been gone nearly ten years, and damned if it didn’t seem all different.  I begged him, I must have had a cell phone though I don’t remember it; I begged and begged and pleaded and pleaded for him to not lose me.  I was completely useless trying to distinguish another car at that time.  Have I told you he loves to drive like a bat out of hell (wherever did that phrase come from, anyway?)  My little Toyota, nearly twenty years old, was a five speed hampered by my foot ever ready to mash on the brakes.  OMG, that was without question one of the most trying times of my life.  What’s really astounding is that a young man in his early thirties with immense stress in his own life, his wife had left, now that I think about it; could, would, did put up with it in someone he’d always known to handle all those things before.  I felt and behaved the invalid – not just the sick person definition, but the opposite of valid type of mom.

And that was just the beginning as I basically took over my granddaughter’s bed for another six months.  Once when he determined I must take a shower (many who are in a clinical depression have no interest in any type of grooming) he turned his Bose with speakers at scream-screech pitch with rap.  Hell hath finally found fury to compete with that of a woman scorned!  An unwell brain met with that; well, not really.  I consented to shower, and then fought my demons that accompany that when I suffer the state I was in.

I really got the message, even in my state of “mental disorder”, that my son truly and mightily loved me even while I could barely eat enough to stay conscious and could not feel worth seeing or talking to, when he told me of reading a story about the death of a young woman who wasn’t eating enough to stay alive.  It wasn’t just the telling of the story.  It was the emotion that threatened to overcome him.

My desires are great to do what I can for him.  What’s a little vortex work?

Hope all you folks are doing well, AZ.  I’ll talk with you again.