State of the Art Plumbing Project--Inside and Out

Getting lots of sympathy from family and friends over our recent plumbing project. Interesting!  For me this construction/demolition has been a #3 level of annoyance while my search for a compelling job continues at a #8-9.  (To be fair, I don’t share my struggles. How could others understand, if I’m perpetually confused?   Or is it embarrassment?  Shame of my constant search for my vocation?)
This morning I saw the synchronicity--that my soul is also undergoing an excavation.  At the base (ment) of my personality I feel exposed as old habits and assumptions are ripped up.  I’m exploring the deep underground of my psyche.  Is this difficult time really about removing an old psychic system and replacing it with one geared for the present moment, not the past?
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved No more to read on this post. Even though Blogger says Read more!

Interior decorator of my soul

We’ve lived in our tiny bungalow for 8 years. Even now, we are just learning to use the space well and organize our things. After each small or larger change, we wonder why it took us so long to fix our previous disorganization, clutter, or poor design. I’d like to live in “house perfect” (like my friends and family) but it’s a low priority. Improvements to our home move slow slow slowly…….

My inner world gets most of my attention. I ponder every inch of my soul’s living space. When I notice a broken thought, a dangling nerve, or a mismatched perception, I focus on it with laser-like attention. But I cannot simply give away this damaged piece of myself. I cannot simply buy a new thought, mood, or impression. I can only create new parts of myself slowly—if at all. But, once I glimpse my own brokenness, I find it hard to look away. I’m like my friend, Donna, who cannot rest if she sees a tilted picture frame. No matter how tired, she must get up and straighten the picture. It bothers her.

I’m like Donna. But instead of brainstorming about my kitchen that needs remodeling, I stare at the dented, scratched and damaged parts of myself. I move toward them and observe. I ponder and pray, ponder and pray, journal, ponder and pray. That’s all I know how to do.

Am I torturing myself by pondering my perceived “failures” so often? Feels like it. But I want to be in a showcase soul. As every homeowner knows, construction in a home (while you’re living in it) is harrowing. But we suffer through it because the rewards are great.
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved Read more!

Holding the Question--Musings for Today

The great challenge of writing is choosing what to express and what to leave out. When there’s so much action, within and outside of me, this is a daunting task. I’m always pulled in conflicting directions.

Been working on an idea previously mentioned, a story of maintaining silence when the psyche needs it. I’ve been struggling to describe this subtle non-happening. Nothing clicks. Then I realize I’m living a version of this tale.

I’ve been striving to carve out little moments of quiet—so I can hear myself think. I need clarity. How do I reconcile my contradictions? I’m living on two tracks: work-time in the corporate-training world, and spare-time in the mythic/Jungian/writing realm. I want to write about both but there isn’t enough time. And what do I want, two blogs???

So I’ve been sitting and listening and waiting.

I hold the question.

Answers always come when I wait for them. But if I short-circuit the process, I’m like the Fisherman in “The Gold Children," losing my inner wealth because I talked too soon.

I’ll be quiet now.
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Chipmunks are singing—Reflections on a Warmer Day

Yesterday, all the messages in my Yahoo inbox disappeared. My other folders remained intact but the six--hundred inbox messages: gone.

Yahoo had no explanation. My friends were baffled. No one could explain why this had happened. But strange events always happen to me.

Daily life is a weird dream that I watch and walk through.

I was raised Catholic but now I’m a Jungian. I believe in sychronicities and symbolism and the mythic realm. How should I interpret my disappearing files? Something lost or obliterated within myself?

Or maybe I’m too attached to interpreting? I cross a parking lot and there is a dead bird, lying near my car. I never see dead birds, but there it is, a cardinal, stiff. Later, as I meditate at the edge of a small pond, a huge, blue heron settles down on the other side. He seems to be watching me.

I know. I think too much. It is my dubious calling. To record the dramas exploding under everyday life.

(Chipmunks are chirping now. And eating squash seeds I’ve left for them.)

I’ve done some writing and the Voice is satisfied. For now. I’ve wrestled with my angels or demons. (Are they the same?)

(The chipmunk’s jowls are bulging with seeds.) Read more!