Bigger is not necessarily better... neither is having more

And I'm not just talking about food.

I remember my mom's reaction when my dad presented her with the idea that he was going to buy a 5,000 square foot house.

"Why? So I can spend even more time cleaning"?

I was twelve at the time and thought, 'What is she talking about'? But that wasn't fair because I was allergic to cleaning and wandered off whenever the opportunity to do so presented itself. I'll clean my room if you can find me hiding in the neighborhood. Good luck with that.

Besides, I wanted to spend as little time at home as possible. It was a toxic environment.

As for that big house my dad wanted? He got it.

But what he should have done is spent his money on a good marriage counsellor, personal therapy for both, and anti-depressants for mom.

Either that, or a good lawyer - you know, before buying shiny new things that only served to cover deeper problems that weren't going anywhere.

True to form, they divorced a few years later. And it wasn't pretty.

Having more, being more, doing more...

All these things are great but they are often things we do to get away from other things - like problems that should be addressed first - before we move on to 'bigger and better things'.

It's a must.

If you don't, sooner or later like a flock of vampires, these issues come out of the dark and puncture holes in your life and it all comes oozing out on that brand new hardwood floor you worked so hard to pay for - whether you like it or not.

And it's like that with other things.

Take love for instance.

If, when it comes to love (starting with your mom) you have experienced nothing but rejection, you may falsely associate love with being rejected.

If you have to work really hard at getting your parents to like you (ie; if you don't get straight A's in school, you're dirt), then chances are you will also associate love with having to work for it.

That's going to make being in a partnership really stressful.

Or it's going to make you choose someone who constantly rejects you as part of a stimulus-response package that you, yourself have programmed into this relationship because it's part of your subconscious programming on love.

But no matter how much you do for the other person, it will never be enough.

Because you don't understand that just being yourself is enough for true love. You're in a falsely programmed belief system.

So you revisit the unhealthy version, over and over and over again until you die. alone. in a rocking chair. beside an empty one covered with dust.

(Ahem)

Now take success. (After all, this is suppose to be about a Six Month Experiment to change my luck from bad to good).

If every time you tried to do something and it didn't work out: you ran out of money, circumstances changed that put a stop to it, ie; 'close but no cigar' every single time, sooner or later, a detrimental belief system would embed its way into your subconscious.

Whatever confidence you had about 'making it' would slowly be eaten away by a sea of maggots making their fat little way into that original, positive belief system about being worthy enough to secure the destiny for which you were born.

(Ahem)

And the only way to get them out is with tweezers.

One fat, little maggot at a time.

So while I was ill, I got in there and did some house-cleaning. (Or maggot-plucking as it were).

I examined every belief system I had about myself - true or false - and sought to eradicate the crappy ones with ones that would better serve me.

It's one thing to say positive things over and over and over again, but believing and knowing are two different things. I might believe that I'm worthy of true love and a successful life, but do I KNOW it?

And if I don't KNOW it, then no matter what I do, it won't work. Or if it does, it will only be temporary. Like my dad's shiny new house. And then it'll all come crashing down like a house of cards (with holes in it from vampires and maggots).

So the better part of my last six weeks has been spent eradicating what DOESN'T work and no longer serves me using some (I hope) effective methods.

Meditating was one of them. The rest, I will discuss another time.

Now, when I hit 'critical mass' and things start to shift in the direction I've been planning and working towards all my life, it won't all come crashing down.

And given that a good chunk of this six month experiment was spent examining and working through old, false belief systems to better prepare for this year, I think I might have to extend this experiment...

... For a Few Months More...

The Health Benefits of Being Sick: what I learned

For now, I'm putting my subbing stories aside. Same ol' same ol'.

Besides, it would be WAY more fun to put a hidden camera in one of those classrooms and upload it to youtube. (Let the world judge for itself the iffy results of skewed liberalism).

But chances are, I'd never work again. Blackballed as it were.

In any case, back to the matter at hand... health and the state of the union - or rather, state of mind.

Whoever said one's health is the most important thing wasn't whistling dixie (ie; they weren't engaging in unrealistic or overoptimistic fantasies - just in case you ever wondered what that meant).

The truth of the matter is, I feel way better than I have in almost six weeks. I can tell because I can once again see the humour in life.

But that was a loooooooong time to feel crappy.

However, good things have also come out of it.

For one thing, I've never been so grateful to have working lungs. (I still can't laugh without feeling like I'm coughing one up, but that's a minor inconvenience).

Normally I would think it's a major one, but since everything is relative and breathing has become a priority, I think I can live with chuckling quietly for the next little while.

And now that I feel like i'm going to live, the question invariably becomes;

What did I learn, if anything, from this experience?

So here goes...

1. I learned to slow down.

This thing wasn't going anywhere until I decided it was somehow inextricably linked not only to my weakened immune system, but to my uncontrolled mind.

You know how Monks (those pros of the meditation world) talk about all the chatter in your brain being like a tree full of monkeys?

Mine also has organgutans, chimps and silver back gorillas competing for space.

I'm about as good at meditating as an Ultimate Fighter would be at performing Swan Lake as a guest dancer for the National Ballet.

And about as happy too, (considering the costume requirements).

I've mentioned this before, but all I can think about is either my grocery list or how I'd rather be having coitus instead of looking for my third eye (I mean, I'm suppose to find that where exactly?)

Seriously, I thought. Gimme a frakkin' break.

But, I was desperate.

My breathing had become so bad, I felt like I had asthma by every evening, which exacerbated the tension in my neck, which gave me a migraine, which made me tense, which made me hyperventilate which caused me to panic, which made my breathing worse until I took more cough syrup laced with codeine and basically passed out from exhaustion.

And that was just a fake feeling better.

This prescription cough syrup contains "a narcotic cough suppressant that affects a certain part of the brain reducing the urge to cough".

In other words, you think you don't have to cough but really you do.

???

Which made me wonder, if I stop coughing after I take it, did I really need to cough in the first place?

Or if it's all in my mind, then I'm not really sick, I only think I'm sick.

But I won't get into the details of that conundrum just yet.

For now, suffice it to say that the thought that this might be true, made Alice's trip down the rabbit hole look like a walk in a gated community compared to where I ventured.

But it might also have been a blessing in disguise.

The bottom line is, I'm finally learning to meditate - with aids of course. There's nothing like a well crafted holosync meditation CD to help you get your mind out of the gutter and into a field of flowers.

2. I learned to take really good care of myself.

For the first time in my life, I didn't hold back.

If I needed a vitamin, I got it or someone got it for me.

If there was a person I could call who'd been through this and might have a few answers, I called them.

I ate healthy food, found more supplements, went to the doc's, took my meds religiously, napped, went to bed early, and put my job as mother hen on hold.

I stopped answering the phone when I was too tired to converse and I didn't force myself to either work out or work too hard.

And the biggest change of all - I told people I needed time to myself. And lo and behold, the world didn't fall apart because I wasn't there to make soup or cushion the blow of whatever current disaster befell my family.

Go figure.

3. I learned it was okay to ask others for help and not tough it out alone.

This was my favorite one.

"Can I get you anything"?

"You betcha...."

I got rid of my best friend, Pride.

I love taking care of people when they're sick. What made me think I was the only one entitled to this privilege?

Sure, I didn't let people come over and hang out with me n' my germ friends (God knows no one wants to feel guilty for sharin' the love) But besides that, I was too busy fluctuating between napping and watching mindless programming on TV.

And once I got over the utter isolation, it was awesome!

Because I gave myself complete permission to look after me. For probably the first time in my life, without guilt.

Amazing.

Next: How manifesting health can apply to well... manifesting, period.

Another day in the life of a sub....

6 a.m.

riiiiiiiiiiiiiing....

"hullo?" I said, sleepily.

"Hi, Nicole. This is the sub clerk from ----, are you available to sub anytime today?"

"Yup".

"I've got so many, what do you want? Junior high?"

"Oh God, no. Please. I've done that all week. Can you give me little kids? You know, small enough to control?"

"Sure. How about grade 3?"

"Perfect."

I mean, how hard could it be?

-------

3 hours later...

I look down at a manageable class list in a nice part of town and thanked God I had a break from older kids as it was the end of a very challenging week and I was low on energy and still not feeling 100%.

6 hours later...

I was hoarse and dumbfounded. I realized it didn't matter what age they were any more. The system just wasn't working.

kid 1: "You know you're the only sub we've had that didn't walk out of the classroom?"

kid 2: "Yeah, and the last one told us she was never coming back to this school as long as she lived!"

me: "No kidding? Gee, I wonder why"?

kid 3: "One sub even told us she was done with us and opened a book and started reading. Right in that chair! (pointing to the teacher's chair I was sitting in). We did whatever we wanted for the rest of the day".

I was nodding emphatically wishing I'd thought of that two hours ago.

kid 1: "Are you coming back? We really want you to. You're our favorite sub."

me: I dunno. You guys were pretty awful.

kid 2: Really? Are we really that bad?

me: "Actually, yeah you were. I'm not saying I don't like y'all, but man... this is not an easy class to be in and you kinda gave me a headache. I'm gonna have to think about it, but probably."

I was lying through my teeth.

I had subbed in a zoo.

Now, I know what you're thinking. They're in grade 3, how hard can it be?

But they were mean to each other, crawling over and under tables, and they didn't listen.

To ANYTHING I said.

I know I'm pretty relaxed in the classroom, but I can handle pretty much anything.

But about fifteen minutes in, I realized they were like a pack of dogs chasing each other and trying to establish leadership. And I lost it.

It was time to be ALPHA DOG.

"We are NOT going to start today off like this. YOU'VE GOT 3 SECONDS TO GET TO YOUR SEATS OR I'M KEEPING YOU IN FOR RECESS."

Thank-you Cesar Milan.

Of course it didn't last the whole day. I had a little respite when they went to gym and music, but because they were so wound up and I wasn't feeling 100%, I knew it was going to be tough to maintain my position.

Being a sub takes psychological warfare. It's not about respect anymore.

Gone are the days of order and discipline.

I was happy to sub at this particular school because it was my old school. I attended grades 4 and 5 here and I hadn't been inside since.

This was my opportunity to take a walk down memory lane.

I was however, mistaken to think it was going to have any semblance whatsoever to the good ol' days.

Way back when, I was taught by a number of teachers who had our respect - including one nun who taught catechism every day at 3 pm. You could hear a pin drop when she was in the room. That's just the way it was back then.

And I'll never forget when she told us we had it easy compared to her. It was the only time she had ever shared anything personal.

She had been born left-handed, but because it was deemed 'wrong', (something about the left being the domain of the devil), she was forced to learn to write with her other hand.

Technically, this made her ambidextrous. (By force, mind you, not like Wayne Gretzky who was born that way). But I thought it was pretty cool anyway and tried to teach myself to use my other hand as well, but that didn't last very long as I was about as coordinated as a chimp and they don't have thumbs.

And even though she was, you know, ambidextrous, I thought the reason behind it was like, REALLY stupid. I actually remember thinking who's the idiot that thought of that? I bet he wasn't left-handed, that's for sure.

Eventually, the church realized how ridiculous that rule was (more likely some new Bishop was a lefty and changed the rules) and she is now permitted to use either hand to write.

When I asked her why she didn't use her left hand, she just shrugged and said, "I did it for so many years, it's just a habit now."

Yep. This class wasn't like that.

It was the closest thing to the animal kingdom you can get.

And the last thing you should do is get into a power struggle with someone - especially when they're any age under 14, subject to a mob mentality, surrounded by a pack, and you're feeling 'off'.

When you're tired or drained, (emotionally or physically) being in a classroom of kids is like being in the wild. They're instinctual. If they think you're scared, they'll pounce.

If they think you're sick or tired, you're dead.

If you're insecure, you're finished.

You might as well call down to the office and tell them they need to find someone else for the afternoon.

Last year, when I came to school tired and the secretary would say, "Morning Nic, how are ya"? I'd say:

"I'm exhausted. They're gonna go for the jugular today. God be with me."

So I did my best.

I have my methods.

When I meet a bully, I pull him aside and tell him he wasn't born like that, so why is he pretending to be mean now?

That in the end, whatever he does to someone else that's rotten will start to manifest as bad luck. That it's a universal law.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

"So the next time you do something mean to someone, don't think about how you're going to get out of it or lie to your parents, or handle the principle and don't even think about how it's hurting someone else.

It's not about them kid, this is about you. So ask yourself if you want bad luck to follow you for the rest of your life. Then you might think twice about hitting him at recess.

And remember. The same is true when you're nice to someone else. Good things start to happen to you."

For whatever reason, telling them about karma always works. (At least for the rest of the day).

It's not guilt. It's not telling someone they're bad just because they did something wrong (or are born left-handed). Guilt, imposed or otherwise, never works properly because they are told to correct their behavior - it comes from the outside.

And that can never be sustained.

But telling them they have a choice and in the end, are the only ones it will affect, might. It's an egocentric age. The world revolves around them, so should their actions.

Taking responsibility for your actions should be taught early on.

I only wish the school system implemented philosophical/spiritual teachings right from the start.

We wouldn't be in this pickle...

A day in the life of a sub...

Given that I'm tired of examining every single life lesson (that may or may not be true) which invariably accompanies every glitch in the road to my success (and recovery from illness no less), I thought I'd lighten things up a bit over the next week or so and share with you a few episodes of:

A Day in the Life of a Sub

Monday I worked in Junior High. Or as I like to call it, "Lord of the Flies".

For those of you out of the loop, that's grades 7 & 8 (roughly 12 and 13 years old).

Things were clipping along as usual... by 2 pm my throat was hoarse, there were a few paper airplanes on the ground, general insults had made their way back and forth across the room and a couple kids had laughed themselves to the floor.

But around 3:10 pm, some kid who had been aimlessly wandering the hallways all day -(I kid you not, and with no consequences) - stuck his head in my classroom door and chucked an iceball at some poor unsuspecting kid and got him right in the head.

I'd say it was a good shot, but it was also pretty hard to miss considering the kid was sitting two feet from the door.

Nothin' personal. He just happened to be in target range of where this criminal-in-the-making couldn't possibly miss his shot.

As this power-packed weapon rolled its way towards my feet (the thing did NOT break I swear), I looked up and said, "What the..."!?

"This is a FRAKKIN' ICEBALL!"

Like an audience at a tennis match, all the kids' heads turned in my direction.

Some even contemplated naming the culprit. I could see it in their eyes, but they couldn't figure out which was worse - ratting out one of their own or maintaining this vow of silence so inexplicably agreed upon during the adolescent years.

So I relieved them of the burden.

"It was that little --(muffled swear)-- wandering the halls wasn't it?

They nodded.

I grabbed my evidence and walked over to the poor, unsuspecting walking hormone who got nailed.

"You okay"?

"Yep. Didn't hurt at all", he said, "It just bounced right off me."

Gotta love the false bravado of twelve year old boys, I thought as I squeezed the lump in my hand to no avail. It was like a rock alright.

"Sure thing kid." I said in collusion knowing his pride was at stake. Besides, it was only 20 minutes 'til end of day. In half an hour, he'd be home nursing that growing egg with a bag of ice and weeping quietly in his room.

I stormed out and saw the sociopath, sheepishly walking towards the end of the hall.

"If you're gonna hurt people", I yelled at him, "why don't you just go home"?

He took that as permission to leave the school and went to his locker to put his jacket on while I stormed in the other direction to the office, where I slammed the ice ball down on the counter.

"Look", I said, "I know this kid wanders around all day, but this? This is too much."

Nothing came of it.

It rarely does.

But at least he didn't call me a bitch! like that kid did in grade 6, who flipped me the bird, then told me to "SUCK ON THIS ONE!"

Or the kid in grade 4 who was so violent the division psychologist told the school there was nothing they could do: "Just let him do what he wants. But assign an instructional assitant to him full-time so he doesn't hurt anyone."

Riiiiiiiiiiiight.

What better, safer place to breed sociopaths than a permissive, public school?

Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of great public schools. And I like subbing. It's highly entertaining. But it's a different animal altogether from having your own classroom.

As a classroom teacher, there's a good chance I would eventually get fired because I would yank a bully into the hallway by his ear and make him call his grandma and tell her what he did.

Let her deal with it.

And this is not to say there aren't a lot of great public schools that do their bit and tolerate very little in the way of behavioral issues.

But, the impetus is on 'letting things slide' because the kid's 'got issues at home'.

I got news for them. This is not tolerance or compassion, it's called ENABLING.

And they're only making things worse.

But at least it makes for a lot of good stories...

Travelling (no matter what)... but first...

You can read about it, you can talk about it, you can even blog about it, but at some point, you have to do something about it.

What am I talking about?

Everything. In this case, my health.

Now, based on my normal output (for life in general, not just blogging) I know I've been sliding a bit (I had more hopes of conquering the world by now - at least the inner one), but as luck would have it, I ended up with this bacterial/viral thingy that's turned my six month experiment into more like a Sick Month Experiment.

I'd like to document every single method I've used - both traditional and natural (including psychological/spiritual) to heal myself but frankly, I don't know how to turn my keyboard into chinese letters so I can list the items from the Chinese store.

And frankly, I don't know how to explain this whole Deepak Chopra belief system(among many others) without listening to the sounds of my fingers typing on the keyboard while a voice inside my head screams: Stop! Get real sister!.

But what the hell, here goes anyways...

There is no pathogen that exists in this universe, which attaches itself to us, that does not have our permission to do so in the first place.

Say what???

In other words, I got sick, because on some level I either manifested it (ie; attracted it), or as Deepak would say, I agreed to it.

After all, we're in a co-creative universe.

I know what you're thinking because I'm thinking the same thing.

But it's interesting food for thought nevertheless.

The thing is... if you believe something to be true in one area of life, then in order for it to be a rule, it has to hold true in other areas as well.

Science dictates that a Law is not law if there exists an exception to the rule.

So... logic tells me, if I believe I am responsible for everything - which is what I've been propounding for these last few months (re: the quality of my life, the nature of my experiences, yadda yadda yadda) then that also hold true regarding my health.

Holy shit.

I'm at fault for being sick.

So that leaves me in a pickle. Because either:

1) I agreed to be sick for whatever reason and that's just stupid - nobody wants to be sick. (Well, some people do because they like the attention but I won't get into that right now. The extreme version of these people are called hypochondriacs).

2) Something I did, said, thought, or acted, resulted in my manifesting this particular illness. (Definitely a possibility)

or...

3) I've agreed (as part of this collectively manifested matrix we live in), that once in a while, as human beings we are going to get sick. Especially if we live in this godforsaken cold weather.

In other words, I get sick because I'm bound to - at least once in a while. It's a collectively accepted truth.

And what if I didn't accept it as truth? I mean REALLY rejected it. With every ounce of my being? With a knowing that exceeded the faith of an Avatar?

Does that mean I'd never get sick because I wasn't part of that faulty belief system?

Yep. Sheesh. That's a tough red pill to swallow. (Matrix reference).

In any case, the point is... even medicine has begun to accept that there is a huge link between thinking and illness.

People who laugh more, live longer, and are sick less often. As do most people who generally have a positive outlook on life.

Chinese medicine believe that different parts of our bodies are the seat of various emotions and when those emotions are out of balance, our internal organs get 'sick'.

(For a western take - paralleling the Chinese) - check out Louise Hay, Heal Your Body. Once you go through your list of ailments and their corresponding emotions, if you have the wherewithall to connect them to a particular time or incident in your life, you may find it to be eerily accurate.

For example, the Chinese say that your lungs holds grief, while your liver is the seat of anger.

Therefore, whatever emotions you do not work through or process properly get buried in their corresponding organs and become manifested in your body as illness.

Apparently, I process everything through my body.

And this area in particular is lung-related. Ie; grief.

But for what?

Working with this concept with an open mind is vitally important to me as I am a firm believer that as whole human beings we can't diagnose an ailment in isolation. Even if I did contract bronchitis (which I did), there's no reason why it should have lasted this long.

And it's popped up twice in the last two months. The second time, far worse.

So I've been looking at contributing factors that go beyond the physical...

Obviously something deeper is getting in the way.

The only thing I can even remotely come up with, is that in the last couple of months, I've actually fully accepted the fact that I am likely to remain single forever.

And suddenly, I'm fine with it. At least consciously.

I'm even finding it a preferrable alternative.

And it's not that I don't date. I do. I love men. (sigh).

I just have this belief - false though it may be - that there is no one out there right for me. And quite right doesn't cut it.

Could that be the cause of my grief?

I was really sad after my last dating spell back in October. Brief though it was, I swung from hopeful to disillusioned in one fell swoop and as a result, it somehow had a damaging impact on me, far more than I care to admit.

But it was not an isolated incident. It was simply the straw that broke the camel's back.

Oh, I'll get back on the camel. I always do. But suddenly, it's with a more flippant attitude - que sera sera n' all that jazz.

Perhaps that is the price my generation (who is trying to get it right a second or even third time around) is willing to pay - we won't settle.

But then again, anything really worth having is also worth waiting for.

Or is it grief because I've given up and I don't want to try anymore?

If I never engage, I can't get hurt or disillusioned, or disappointed.

One thing's for sure. I'm overanalyzing.

Time for more aspirin...