Working out the Gnarly Kinks

My younger daughter was home for Thanksgiving and she took one look at my weary ESL/subbing self and told me that I really had to get my workshops out there and do what I really want to do. She is right, so with my time off today, I worked on my workshop on spirituality and have a better idea of where I will take it and how it should fit into a workshop. I am going to put up flyers, advertising, and use social media to get the word out. Most of all, I'm going to pray to the angels to direct me.

I have to.

Do what I love and the rest will fall into place. Sure there will be frustrating obstacles, but they will be dismantled by me since, most likely, they were created also by moi.

A sad day.

Happy Thanksgiving: Seeing With New Eyes

Two beautiful immigrant women teach me
how to appreciate joy.

You know I've never thought much of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade when I lived away from it. And even when I moved to NYC, I just wasn't feeling it; even the one Thanksgiving my girls and brother and I went and were so cold, we didn't stay long.

It wasn't until this Thanksgiving that I began to understand it and it is because of two immigrant women: one 101 years old and the other in her late 30s.. Maria, the oldest member of our Memoir group orally tells her stories, and explained last week why she loves this parade.

"In our country the parades only involve the military," she said, "but when we came to America, oh the joy we found watching all the colorful floats and marching bands!"

Caridad, who is from Mexico, and attends my ESL class in Harlem, hugged me good-bye on Tuesday, and said,  "I am so sad because I must work on Thanksgiving, but most of all I am sad because I will miss the parade. I love to all!" she said, her face lighting up just thinking of it.

I sat there, marveling. Today, I am watching it. I'm sitting here, drinking coffee, and giving thanks.

It's an Immigrant's Thanksgiving and this American is mighty thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving

 

Earl Grey

Yesterday I cleaned, shopped for Thanksgiving's meal, watched TV, and had a couple of good crying moments over my Mother. I went to bed, eyeing my laptop as I passed, knowing I was missing a day of posting, but I went to bed.

Mourning trumps everything. Better to express it as it comes than to let it sit inside and have a temper tantrum. This morning I am going to the Bronx and I am feeling such resistance to writing. That tells me to write because good stuff is coming. I'm asking my angels to help me to release my knuckle-white fear. I vow this morning and onward to name a tea date as does Allice Walker and to show up. I am not giving up on the process or me. Feelings, especially ones in regard to one's mother, run incredibly deep, for better or for worse. I felt my mother, yesterday, nudging me to write. I felt her hand on my head, stroking my hair. She had marvelous hands.

I will remember that on my tea date. 

And the National Book Award Goes to Sheela Wolford!

It's that time again: National Book Awards. And every year I wince because I wish I had a book to compete. I'm not saying I will ever be nominated, but it is a grand goal I have and so, then, every year I wonder why I'm not even going to the starting line? Posting every day on this blog is going to be the deciding factor. I know it, sure as I'm salivating over each nominee's bio.

Next year.

Routine is My Ritual

One of the sites where I hold my memoir workshop.

I've been very lax in my spiritual routine since my mother's illness and death. Something shifted in me and while I feel as aligned with my higher self than ever, I have found myself pushing my spiritual books and order aside. Until now. In tune with my inner voice and higher self, angels, and guides, I understand how much I need my routine and meditative time. It ignites and regulates my active passion and courage. So, since last weekend, I have begun again. I carried two of Deepak's books with me on the train to the Bronx and read them coming and going. I also have A Course in Miracles positioned on my coffee table and am rereading and redoing the workbook lessons. I am on lesson two. And just now with two hours left until I need to be in the ESL classroom, holding coffee in hand, I got the gentle nudge and listened that I must return to timed meditation.

I sat down in my blue chair, sighed and easily went into a meditative state. It felt so right. And what I received was this: everything will fall into place once I write the memoir about my relationship with my mother.

Just like that. All my handwringing over what to do first or with more emphasis: writing or workshops? Am I doing this right? Am I putting the cart before the horse? And on and on.

I am breathing with a feeling of outrageous calm. And the clock shows 10: 55, my birthdate.

Home Fires are Always Burning

My childhood home street address.

Came home after a 10 hour day of ESL groups; kicked off my shoes and slithered onto the couch and didn't even eat dinner and woke up two hours later, realizing I needed to post.

I take this daily posting pledge seriously, and as I do, my writing becomes more real, more valued, and more precious to me. Tonight as I left my workplace in Queens, I asked the angels for a sign. I told them I was feeling weary and wondering if I was indeed on my path and to please leave me a sign if I was.The penny found on 36th Avenue would have been enough, but as I stood at the 34th Street Station, waiting for the F train, I knew I was being shown love and indeed on my correct path as the cars whizzed by and I read the numbers and one car away was 9804, the street number of where my parents, brothers, sister and I lived in El Paso. I sprinted to it, climbed on, sat down, and smiled. This was the second time I had seen this car number in only days, whereas I had been looking for such a combination of numbers for years.

Tonight I realize my parents are gone, but they co-generate with the angels telling me they are near, and it is enough to get me home, rested, and ready for  the next day of my life. I have a  lot of writing to do.

Dress for Success

Carry paper that can fit in your pocket.

Today I made a connection about the day of the week and one of my mother's weekly activities: Getting ready for church. Now my mother did not just wake up and throw on her clothes. Paralyzed on the left side of her body, dressing took hours, and often she did it by herself after my father died and when my sister was not available and me already living in NYC. So she'd get up about three hours before the morning service. I used to imagine her putting on her stockings, the buttons, zipper in the back of her dress, her slip. My mother loved routine. And she loved God and Jesus.

As I dressed this morning to go to my tutoring job in the Bronx, taking me an hour and a half from Brooklyn, I remembered her in her Sunday morning ritual and so I knew I had to get that down for our memoir. I took my little pocket size notepad and carried it with me, writing down this memory for future writing.  I see it sitting on the coffee table. I need to take it with me and remember it, as I remembered my mother's dressing schedule on a Sunday morning.

I need to be as true to my writing as I am to that memory. And if so, there will be plenty to edit in time to come.

Jealousy

Understanding comes in many forms.

I've been tired all day, but I got a second wind on my walk home and shot another movie by taking pictures. I sure do enjoy it. Something heavy that's been hanging onto me for a while is lifting off, and I don't feel such a burden when I pick up my pen. I feel a lightness. For once, the instruments are feeling friendly. Weapons of Mass Delight.

I've been very slack in reading my spiritual books since my mother's death. Ain't that funny? I don't know if it was the five weeks I spent beside her both in the hospital and in the hospice room we set up in my sister's house, but I was too busy tending to life and to death to read the passages that keep me focused, aware, centered, and anchored onto love's strong ocean floor. And then when she passed, I just fell away for a time. Not out of anger or lack of faith; just out of weariness to keep going.

But going out last night to read my two poems broke something free and I was able to swim back to my rock of station. Today I picked up Deepak Chopra's books: "Seven Spiritual Laws of Success" and "Creating Affluence," and read a few pages, but I wanted to close my eyes. It is not easy to continue without one's Mother. I never knew how much I meant that. To find a friend inside her and then to have to send her on her way so soon left me with a dry sadness in my throat and heart.

But I feel her telling me to keep going since we are never truly separated anyway.

There is a sweet stillness spreading through me. The warrior and the witness have merged and I stand strong, humbled, and blessed. I'm ready to continue to make the goddess of wealth jealous by paying more attention to the goddess of knowledge.

I have everything I need. Everything,

A Time to Grow

I wrote two poems to read at the birthday party of a friend. I went and after a couple of hours, realized that part of the party wasn't going to happen. But, I was so proud of myself, standing there, ready to read, poems in my pocket. I went. I did not stay away in fear.

 So here they are. I hope you enjoy them.

Winter,
a time to let
what is on the outside die
and allow what is inside to live.

We rouge it, and douche it,
and color it healthy, young,
sexy, and green.

Plotting to defy death;
we stick it and pull it
and suck it, and inject it.

Yet, we are always there,
waiting to be born.

A kaleidoscope of possibilities,
a dalliance with fate.

One you.
A discovery come spring.

"Born" - Nov. 10, 2010 Sheela Wolford



Our children see us at our worst.
They see us spewing, chewing,
and gagging on facts, regrets,
and disappointments.

They see us with uncombed hair,
prostrate on the couch,
looking at nothing, but the Boob Tube.

"Bye, Mom! I'll be back," they say.

And we rise to hug them, see them
out the door.

Our children see us at our best.
The brush through the hair,
dilapidated shoes, removed for new.

"Bye, baby! I'll be back," we say.

And they rise to hug us,
seeing us out the door.

Our children see us.
They see our entirety.

Glory and gush,
ash and soot.
Swallowing and getting on with it.

They see us growing up.

"Entirety" - November 11, 2010  Sheela Wolford

Waking Up to My Potential

Bloom whenever and wherever you can.

Feeling tired today. Didn't sleep well and woke up this morning at 6:30 only to grab a pillow and my comforter and head to the couch where I slept off and on until 9:30. Today, I'm going to Flushing, Queens for my memoir workshop and individual consultation and interview with one of the residents there. But this morning, while still asleep and in the living room, I was writing in my head; words spilling out with me tapped into my consciousness.

So this tells me to get on it and truly get to bed at a decent hour and/or develop more discipline. The good news? I'm able to tap in more and more. My ability and determination; my voice is emerging and in a strong way. Every day is a process and the more I consistently swim in my waters of choice, the more my muscles will strengthen and develop.

I'm going to a Birthday party tomorrow night and the birthday girl, Lauren, has invited us to join her celebration by participating in a Talent Show. So I'm going to read something I've written. I wrote a poem yesterday and at the time was sure it was what I wanted to read. Now I don't know. This morning I had a variety of pieces to offer, but they have returned to the field of pure potentiality. Again, the good news..."There's more where that came from!"

And the way I will receive it into this realm is through my supple willingness to be ready at all times. Neil Young says he leaves anywhere he's at, whatever he's doing to go and write down a lyric that comes to him.   Shyness, laziness, tiredness be gone. I'm a shakin' my tail feathers.

"Talk the Talk, Walk the Walk"

Welcome to my journey.

Second time in my "post a day for a year journey" that I didn't  post!  I got home and after two long days of ESL groups and last night's attendance to a birthday dinner, once I arrived home I found myself staring at my blog, apologizing, but off I went to bed. I knew while doing this that things were out of order in my schedule. Posting and writing should have been first. Lesson learned.

But good news! I am two days consistent in my gratitude journal! I'm just keeping it real, that's right, only two straight days of listing what I am grateful for and appreciative. Routine in anything desired is a must! If you want to be a success at what you love, it must be worked on everyday consistently and on time!

My awakening came 15 years ago when I had a job that I was not receiving support,  and was not happy. During the nearly two years that I worked there, I could make my own hours and I abused that privilege and often called in saying I would be in late or I'd take entire days off. What I found during that sad time was the extremely satisfying realization that I adored staying home and using that time to launch my own ideas and daydreaming. It felt right.

The welcoming trees to my journey.

When I moved to New York soon after, the feeling went away as I scrambled to find work and an apartment for my daughters and me. Survival took over, yet once I was planted in the work world, I found myself mourning for time spent alone during the normal working hours.

When I left my apartment in the morning, I began to walk toward the train station at the end of my block and I would stare at three trees planted along the edge of the little park across the street. Praying to those trees, I began asking for a way to accomplish my desire to work alone and to survive. Those trees became my praying place, day after day. They also represented my daughters and me.

I saw the trees as a pathway to my dream of being a solitary writer and making a good income. What I would find was my journey involved much healing and strengthening. I am still on that path, evoking help and finding answers, and as Frost said, "Miles to go before I sleep."

So the next time I come home late at night and very sleepy, I already will have made my post and have done my writing for the day. If not, I will post that night, tired, but still consistent and true to my routine. I am sturdy as the three trees who bless me, one by one, as I walk under them, praying as I go.

 Dedicated to my daughters.

What is Right is in My Line of Vision

The woman I co-teach an ESL group asked me to take today and tomorrow's class. I also taught my evening one, too, so I'm feeling a bit tired, but happy. I like teaching ESL. It fits my personality and I can encourage away and really do some technical and emotional good.

I worked on my customer service workbook, wholeness workshop, and "Jumping Off the Cliff with My Mother" today, even if it was just a sentence for each, but I did it, and tomorrow will do more. And each day I will add to my work.

My joyful work.

G'Nite.

To my daughters.

The Western Daughter

There's a dark red leafed tree that stands in the courtyard of the college where I tutor on the weekends. It is a tree I remember watching when my mother had her stroke and later, the object of my anger after her death when the leaves twirled in a breeze my mother could not feel.

Today, while eating a quick snack in the eating area of the school, I stare at the tree and it no longer shoots pain in me. Instead it brings wonder as I finish Amy Tan's novel, "The Bonesetter's Daughter." A howl lurches in my throat at the beauty of Tan's ending, and the sight of the crimson tree. I know reading this novel is not a coincidence.

My mother used to say things such as "bleeding like a stuck pig," and "were you raised in a barn?" Amy Tan's intensity in linguistics and metaphor cracks open my awareness of the language of my mother. I see the hilarity and sorrow of her every inflection. I smile and witness the tree and I no longer fear or resent any realm. My mother is with me. She is as secure as the bones in this daughter.

Pardon the Swirl and Not Necessarily Perfect Order of this Post

Those writers who I admire are Amy Tan and Stephen King. I don't read King's books or even see his movies, but it is his love for language that steers my wonder and I found this when I read his Memoir on Writing, a splendid guide to good writing, and imagination. And Tan, well, she is just magnificent and also inspired by the arrangement and delicious use and order of words. It is the clarity with which they write that I see and apply to my brain. Incredible storytellers. And what they do best and most simple is they stay in the present tense, something that such an 'aha' moment shows me where to go and not take a swerve into the writer's ditch. King advises reading as much as writing, so as to process and apply good writing style from the eclectic and wise company of writers.

I am excited. Much good reading to be done. All of Tan's work, more Maya Angelou, oh, let's be real, the list is endless. I want to live to be in my late 80s to experience and to further what is awakening inside me.

90+ and in great health is what I'm shooting for...

I'm all over the place tonight because I am listening to Bob Proctor's cds on being a Goal Achiever. He says to write down six things you will do for the day and then commit to it with a signature. That is the essence of being a goal achiever. So I have lots of information pole vaulting around in my head. I tell you what, I will not allow myself almost to get there and not do it.

I'm a Tan and King, myself. I am my own representation of Maya Angelou. I am Sheela. I am brilliant. As are you.

 

A Play Doh Day of Discoveries

My thoughts create my life.

This morning I woke up wondering just how was I going to get my life on a path that was fun, productive, lucrative, and creative? I've been working on this since 2007. Now things are more stable and I can stomach my three sources of income, yet I know I am not there, yet. I'm working six days a week, and my one day off - Friday - goes way too fast. I want more.

I didn't even make coffee this morning. I asked the Angels to help me figure this out. And then I turned on my laptop because let's face it: I'm addicted to Facebook. But before logging on, I went to my Yahoo account and saw an email notice of a teleseminar featuring Bob Proctor of  BobProctor.com hosted by :Lisa Garr of TheAwareShow.com. Now, remember, I had just asked the Angels to help me identify my next move. I felt the nudge to listen. I clicked on and listened.

Of course it was just what I needed to hear. I felt excitement run through me as I hurriedly reached for my notebook.  Here is what Bob said:

1. Find a quiet place and clear your mind. Dedicate a half hour every day for 30 days. Ask: What do I really want? Take the time to decide what is wanted.

2. Write it out. Be as specific as possible. Our wants come from the essence of what we are.  Ask: Why do I want to do it? Give clear, specific directions. And then write, "I am so happy and grateful now that..." and begin to think and write about what you want NOW and how it is here right now.

3. Writing causes thinking and thinking creates an image.  Also, by doing this, you are moving to a different frequency and the image is on the screen of your mind.  You are moving your mind onto a higher frequency and thoughts flow into your mind with ideas on how to get to where you want. Image changes vibration and action ensues.

4. Now, as you chart your way, keep asking yourself, "Does doing this serve me?" If it doesn't, change; if it does, continue on with the joy in doing what you love.

5. Be specific. Remember: The Universe doesn't think. It just accepts images and moves it into form.

6. Willingly give and gratefully receive. And don't see it as a trade.

You have the power. I have the power. As I went about my day of chores, I asked myself these questions and after quietly sitting for 30 minutes, I knew - what has been tugging at me for weeks -  how I want to serve and here it is:

columnist
novelist
non fiction writer
speaker, and workshop facilitator. 

Three years ago I wasn't at the level I am now, and I wasted my precious alone time biting my nails and searching Craigslist for gigs, and afraid of what everyone was thinking of the girl who'd apparently lost her mind.  Now I am stronger, more refined and astute in my joy. I also want to be a speaker, and to give workshops in order to have a connection, and to participate,  not every day as in a classroom, but as a way to interact with people, something I am learning to truly enjoy as facilitator.

I learned a lot today.Oh, also I learned that we are never fearless, but if we are courageous we can create and make what we don't know how to invent. That is the secret. That is our birthright. Lastly, expect to be scared and to try to wiggle back to your comfort zone. You'll be bored and miserable, but right in step with millions. I choose to stay with the discomfort; it's never felt so right.

"Amigos Para Siempre"

Tonight, I came home after subbing an ESL group. I was
hungry and once again, wondering if I was spinning my wheels?
I went online and read Leila's words that this blog was good.
It was the fireside rush I needed. Tomorrow, I write.

Don't get me wrong, I like helping adults learn English. I find the three hour increments really go fast, that is, once I get into the environment. But, prior, as late as the front door of the establishment, I lament that I am not sitting somewhere alone. But what would you do with that time if you had it? I ask myself. Be real, Sheela.

But you know what? The urge and discipline to write is increasing. It's going to involve sitting and going into another realm; being alone for slices of hours at a time or even a few minutes. What matters is that I stay committed to the blaring fun of imagination. Loosen up, loosen up, Sheela. Strengthen your vocabulary, read more, watch TV less, and believe.

I'm reading Amy Tan's novel, "The Bonesetter's Daughter" and her use of language is superb the way a fine Olympic athlete makes a performance look easy.  "Don't compete with anyone and just write, Mom!" Sarah tells me, and I feel a nagging fear dislodge as I reach for my pen, move to the keyboard, grab a scrap of paper and simply stop holding my breath. Being able to say anything, playing with the arrangement of words and simplicity of meaning is oxygen personified. And helping immigrants find a way to communicate in English is a warm up to my own moment on Mt. Olympus.

Let the games begin.

Tired, but alive

Tired, but happy. Spent the past two days in Boston with my baby girl who is now 23. Now, I'm living for Friday...more writing on that day, and bits and pieces tomorrow.

Better Than I Used to Be

Born on the Day of the Dead, my sugar pie is vibrant,
alive, and gorgeous, inside and out! Happy Birthday, Sarah!

Hurrying this morning to get on a bus to Boston before 1 pm and to vote before I leave. This morning, I realized I am sabotaging myself by staying awake late at night, often falling asleep in the living room, and staggering to bed hours later. I need to regiment my evening, too. So, today, on my daughter's 23rd birthday, I vow to retreat to bed before 11 pm every night unless I am at a celebration or special event. But, if I'm simply at home, to bed I go because I want to be energized and ready every morning. I woke up today at 9:15 am. Not acceptable. I could have written ten pages by then.

A new day, new awareness....I never get it wrong and never get it finished. Tweaking the process and gaining joy from it.

Okay, now on to vote, go to Boston, and have a ball with my baby girl.

Look Ma! I'm Swimming!

I wrote for two hours! I got lost in it! And I will do the same tomorrow before heading out to Boston to spend Sarah's birthday with her!

I did it!

And there's plenty more where that came from.

"No Negative Waves"

Realized once in bed that I had forgotten to post on Halloween. So, if I may, I will put it down here and post again at some point today.

But what I realized last night was that writing MUST be an organic process marked with discipline and passion, showing up for the tea date as Alice Walker does, and showing up every day, even during the holidays, etc., as Stephen King does. And, finally, to realize that writing a book is done in "snatches" of time, written on pieces of paper while going through one's day as Doreen Virtue states.

But it must be done organically, naturally. You see, each time, I've sat down to write, I have noticed myself freezing up, going into full blown "perfectionist" mode, triggered simply by me trying to create something from nothing. So today, I officially forgive myself, and let go of it all, and ask my Higher Self to help me to move forward and to relax into this glorious profession.

This weekend on the train ride to the Bronx, I mapped out my storyline to Joseph Campbell's The Hero's Journey, and it made me smile. By doing this, I choose stories about my mother and me, individually and together that I may not have used, but by following this incredible roadmap, I understood my journey that much better, and the passion of my story did not wane. I did not become bored with it. Big point.

Today, I am home until I teach ESL tonight, so I am going organically to begin. No pressure, no expectations, no discouragement, no negative talk. Just the keyboard and my heart and my Higher Self. And my mother's nods of approval seen in my Third Eye.