A Dance With A Dead Man

I dance with dead men. And I sort of fall in love with them. I recently had a visit with a spirit who was pretty well known, and had passed suddenly and tragically. He was in his young 30’s and a pretty awesome soul. You can read that anywhere his bio shows up online, but sometimes you don’t believe it until you have met the person yourself.

I find myself bitter at the tender age of 34. And I do mean, bitter. I somehow lost my youthful luster along the way. Even now as I write this I feel the bile rising up in my throat at the way I feel I’ve been treated and mishandled in this lifetime. All with little to no understanding.

I connected to this man accidentally, the way I do most spirit’s honesty, by scrolling through his writing. I was touched by some of his sentiments on life and his partner before he died, but I quickly reminded myself that a lot of people look better online than they are in person. And that I wonder if he is the reason someone is hurting while he portrays himself as a loving and compassionate adventurer. I dismissed the way the writing made me feel as my nostalgia for the good I once believed existed in people. And I moved on with my evening.

I was in a bit of an awkward setup by the time he stumbled in. Confused, hanging on to the impact of his sudden death. I knew he knew, but I also knew he needed confirmation. He showed me himself sitting up in bed in the middle of the night, as if to indicate that it felt like a dream state to him. On the verge of a nightmare. Time just kept relapsing and nothing added up. He seemed to be calling for his lover, but was confused she couldn’t hear him. And so he suspected he was dead, but wasn’t sure.

I hate having to ruin someone’s day and feel a little sorry for myself as I struggle for guidance on how to bluntly tell them it’s over. I know it seems like I should be a pro, but it’s never easy when the soul leaving actually loved life. And this soul had, to the absolute fullest. You can see that online too.

I am bitter. Let me repeat, I am bitter. In looking this man up online earlier the same day I had left his social media platform feeling like it’s so unfair that some people will never know the pain of poverty, or true struggle and even (this is so harsh) that he and his friends looked like a bunch of pretty white people with privilege. I mean, this isn’t my reality!! I often envy the easier paths others have chosen before birth, and yet I know I chose my own for rather important reasons, right? I felt bad about judging someone who had passed, especially since he looked like a nice enough guy!

And then I danced with his energy. It’s the only way I can say it that makes any damn sense. I intuitively knew who he was and what everyone meant when they spoke of what a kind hearted person he was. I just knew every aspect of him as if I actually spent a great deal of time in his presence. I had never heard his name until he died, but was drawn into reading about his death because it stroked the heart of the weeping willow that resides in me. It was almost like a magnet pulling me in. I had to know more. It almost never makes any sense anymore, but I trust it now. I can hope it all adds up later.

I fell in love with this man. No, not in a creepy way. It’s rare to meet such a pure spirit, who is mostly good and just sort of seems to escape the darker things in life that makes for a bitter heart like my own. I have this weird notion that nobody is actually happy, and that I’m leading the bitter parade for them.

Where do I begin?

Have you ever felt immediately loved, not because of who you are, but because you are in the presence of love it’s self. Or in the energetic bubble of someone who exemplifies love at it’s highest vibration? He just oozed charm from every pore, making him almost a bit of a playboy type. I believe he could make anyone feel good just by looking at them.

He had one gripe and that is that the lover he left behind never made him feel especially unique or special. She had loved him, sure, but she had never reflected back to him the same enthusiasm he had expressed toward and about her. And he had wanted that, though he never made it an issue because his love for her was what mattered in the end.

Reflecting upon my most recent choices in men which have left me hurt beyond repair, I wonder to myself now if there is a man out there just like that for me. If maybe though I’ve never had it, maybe now that I realize it exists, I can at least hope for that. I know it’s totally weird to fall in love with dead men, but my normal will probably always be your strange.

“You must learn to want better things, sweetie”. – One of my guides






Wailing Mother

I groggily woke up to a neighbor wailing outside my bedroom window. Over and over again she cried, “My baby! My baby!” I could hear a couple of other voices trying to comfort her, to no avail. She was absolutely beside herself. I thought something really terrible must have happened.

I asked my ex/housemate to please peek around the corner to see what horror story awaited us. I thought maybe a small child had been hit by a car. That had actually happened a few blocks away a year and a half ago. 18 month old Gracen had been run over and killed. It haunted us all.

I wasn’t looking forward to hearing the worst, but when he came back inside he shrugged and said nobody was out there and there was nothing to see.

I asked my boys if they had heard the screaming. They said they had not. I asked several more times. They looked at me with empty expressions and repeated that they hadn’t heard a woman crying. I wondered how they couldn’t have heard this mother wailing. I had heard he clear as day!

That’s when it hit me … I was also recalling details that I couldn’t have known from my bed. As my fogginess from being lifted out of a deep slumber dissipitated, I realized that I knew the woman was Hispanic. And what kind of coat (a black pea coat) one of the people trying to comfort her had been wearing. I also realized that my next door neighbor had been mowing the lawn the entire time the wailing was going on. There is no way I would have heard the murmurs of the people talking to this crying mother over that noise.

As I relay this story it feels a bit like a ghost story. It’s spine tingling and I’m in complete awe.

There’s more as recently I wrote a blog post about astral travel. I mentioned that I thought my guides had been preparing me for traveling outside of my body in my sleep more. I also had the intuitive thought I would be going to the border and energetically offering my support, whatever that means. I don’t recall my dreams most nights, which I think is because I’m no longer dreaming. I’m traveling.

I feel like I will forever be haunted by that mother’s wailing, because I am a mother myself. The words, “a life lived in a cage is not a life worth living”, keep coming up as I write this, and I know the truth of that in my own way. We may look at this as such a short time for mother and child to be separated, but I assure you the trauma suffered by everyone involved is a seed waiting to bloom. It is so unnecessary to let evil allow us to become a nation divided. When will we ever learn?

Where have all the flowers gone?

I hope when you celebrate your freedom tomorrow you understand that if any of us are captive in any way, be it in actual cages at a border, or having been born into poverty, none of us are free. If a baby cries for it’s mother and she isn’t to be found, that energetic imprint is already making waves and will one day come crashing down back on you. It’s just the way of it, my dear.






Social Media

Ingrid Goes West is a movie about a woman who is obviously suffering a mental crisis, who also happens to be navigating her way through our society’s obsession with social media and so called fascinating public figures.

I was utterly surprised to find myself very triggered at certain points in this movie, and not for the reasons I might have thought I would be (the topic about suicide comes up). I even had a mini panic attack and came close to tears during one scene – a scene where Ingrid snaps a picture of herself and a sleeping Taylor Sloane (the social media “star” she’s found herself overly fond of). I mean, my reaction was a little intense considering I’ve never been stalked online.

I found myself more upset than the average viewer probably does, by the amount of deceit Ingrid uses to manipulate this poor unsuspecting “friend” of hers. I have a cellular memory of at least feeling that stupid and vulnerable, and the incomparable horror of that particular experience. I think it’s such an overall helpless feeling to realize you’ve actually emotionally invested yourself into someone who isn’t who they say they are. The betrayal of trust is abhorrent, to say the least.

It also dragged up my disdain for social media being used the wrong way. It is never helpful to glamorous ones lifestyle. In fact, it causes such a disconnection that it spreads pain like the flu. A special strain that is hard to actually cure. This really pisses me off, because I speak to plenty of people who are very hurt by the bullshit they see online and I know their pain is so unnecessary.

There is nothing healing about seeing “perfect” people living false ideals for the hope of a few hundred likes. It’s repulsive to see women mutilating their god given bodies to look like carbon copies of one another.  I think I’m very triggered by the overall lie of social media stars, for the most part. In fact, I’ve done a lot of research on the subject being that it’s bothered me so much in the past, and I’ll share some of what I’ve found.

A few things we should all realize about social media stars – A lot of them are actually paying for their followers. Many of them bait and reel in new followers by following then unfollowing. Hotel owners of hotels on beaches,  are becoming quite upset with instagrammers booking hotel rooms to use as a background for their “model” bikini shots, and to pose as if that is their actual every day lifestyle. I’ve seen models in person, they are beautiful, but not the kind of beautiful that makes you want to blow your brains out.  Please just trust me on that one. I, myself, have used a filter or two and erased dozens of pictures that I found to be “not good enough”, before I finally posted one that  probably looked effortless to my followers. I know how much makeup, time and energy goes into actually capturing that perfect shot.

I think it takes time to build positive self image, but knowing a few short cuts and harsh truths about the bullshit you’re asked to ingest every single day, never hurt anyone.

I hope you can find ways to drop the filter a little bit at a time, and realize you were never supposed to appear perfect. In fact, we’ll be gravitating even further away from that ideal in coming years, because we are beginning to realize the gravity of how much pain we are causing each other by trying so damn hard to be “fancier” than we are.

Posting real shit sometimes isn’t easy. I’ve gone out of my way this past year to unwind my own insecurities by sharing stuff that truly made me wince from time to time, but at least when and if I ever meet some of you from my own list of followers (keep your circle small, and the beer cold,  is my motto), you’ll recognize me. Hastag therealalishaarchuleta. Winking emoji.






Enlightenment Looks Good On Me

I experienced Astral Travel in my sleep recently. I am almost never fully connected to my human body so leaving it for short trips is actually a common thing for me. I live in a sort of state of near constant dissociation, my body acting on auto pilot more often than not. I find ways to force myself to at least try to stay in my body, such as exercise. Or asking myself to fully feel a sensation like water on my skin. Like zone in on every second of that small fraction of time.

Anybody who thinks the stage of enlightenment I’m at right now is something to be envied, you’re wrong. It’s a very lonely feeling, and there is no one cheering me on. Just watching, possibly hoping I’m not actually crazy rather than gifted. I find myself wanting a life many think I should just let go of the hope of ever having, when all anyone ever needs is a proper support system. They say you can achieve anything you put your mind to. I know now that any true success story begins with opportunity and people who are willing to sacrifice something of themselves to help you succeed.

And yet here I am, having these mind blowing experiences, whether or not anyone is giving me the respect I had hoped to earn at some point in time. I feel like I’ve heard this story a time or two though, about years upon years spent pursuing some grandiose idea. Paying your debt, I suppose, for wanting a bigger than average life. And for knowing in your heart, you’re worth it, even if nobody else see’s your potential. I guess that’s where the determination to succeed is actually born, in the frustration of knowing and yet not quite being.

Anyway, this blog post is about astral travel …

I found myself pulled out of my body in the middle of the night. I was in the room of a man I may or may not know (yet). I could see the outline of the empty bedroom and the furniture in it, at the mercy of the moonlight. I could even see that the sheets on the bed sitting on the floor, were blue. The man had left his energetic imprint in the room, thought he had stayed elsewhere that night. Apathy, depression, and hopelessness overwhelmed me, but I understood them all too well.

The reason why I was able to pinpoint this “dream” as astral travel is because I could feel everything as if it were every bit as real as I am right now. The energy was nearly solid. It was like a long, thick, heavy rubber band connected me to my body as I heard my guides whispering to me tips on how to stay out of body. It’s like it wanted to pull me back into my body, but my guides were training me on how to navigate my life energetically in other places. I trusted them, and though I felt a bit I guess you could say “wobbly”, I did as they said, and I trusted myself.

I feel like Bella in Twilight sometimes, like this despair at living in a world forever that I don’t understand, when one awaits me that I know I belong to. I know I was born to live a life that is beautiful, happy, and unique to me.

Last night I was stopped by a police officer while riding my bike at night. He claimed to stop me for not having any lights on my bike, which makes sense. The way he treated me though, did not. I am exasperated, and frankly, tired of trying to make sense of people. I feel as if the whole world has bought into the lie that is happiness and success, and right or wrong, and I’m so alone in the fact that I am now fully awakened.

I’ve even gone so far as to cut off ties with family members who don’t agree that the president is wrong for his current actions. I’m asking more of myself and better of the people I love, and I’m not afraid to be alone if that is the result of not “standing in the middle”. If I don’t stand for someone in need, I am not who I say I am. And I am part of the problem.

I keep seeing a German Nazi with his arm around a Jewish “friend”. They are laughing and smiling as this Nazi leads this man to a gas chamber. I think it is a warning about the severity of not taking a stance.

We are not friends if we are, in fact, mortal enemies. What does that mean, you ask? My guides say that it means exactly what you think it does. If you don’t stand for all humans and human rights amidst the trauma that is our current reality, you have failed not only your loved ones, but the entire human race. This isn’t said in judgement, as we do not judge, but in love. – Guides/Angels




Super Empath

I spent the entire afternoon in emotional distress. I could barely function, flitting from chore to chore while occasionally checking my status update on facebook. I asked anyone still supporting Donald Trump to feel free to delete themselves. And as usual, someone had to show their misplaced support for political freedom in the wake of the oppression of individual’s they seem to have little compassion for. So of course, an online argument pursued between opposing forces. Though I tried my damndest not to give in, words were spoken and friendships put on ice for now.

I will never understand how someone can not see that had fate twisted for them in another direction, they themselves might be in the unenviable position of having to be parted from their children or harassed by the U.S. Border Patrol. I mean, it takes one twist to see a completely different perspective because you have to.

This affects us all.

It seems that within the hours between that post and the 9 o’clock news, Trump has since decided that families won’t be separated at the border after all. I would breathe a sigh of relief, but this is hardly over. And if the best we have to look forward to is someone being a “little bit less” of a dictator and threat to the heart of America, then it’s just not good enough.

Part of the argument I found myself having was the valid argument of wondering when I ask my family and friends to portray a real sense of integrity. It scares me. If we accept one form of government abuse and then another, when does this become too late? A story of a dictator who went too far because nobody stood up to say “enough is enough!” When concentrations camps are erected? Or when Trump starts attacking American minorities? I mean, besides talking shit on twitter, of course.

And why would anyone with black or brown skin accept this man as their leader? I haven’t been able to figure that one out since day one. In case anyone thought my page was the page to argue about border patrol etc, the last name is ARCHULETA. My eyes are brown, my skin tan, and my heart awakened.

I have had to let some family members go this year, but the work of someone who is trying to live their best life, and love themselves fully, isn’t easy exactly.

If I stand for the oppression of anyone, I stand for the oppression of myself.

My life is currently insecure, a bit of a revolving door, but rapid expansion isn’t for everyone. Some people never change their views on right and wrong. That is how we got here in the first place. Fearful people create ugly realities, and it affects us all, whether they ever see it that way or not.

It is only when the shit hits the fan for the truly blind and ignorant, that they are awakened to harsh realities that they for some reason assume they might never face.  When do we care about babies with cancer and the research funding this disease needs to finally be put to an end? When it’s our own child.

The awakened know what the sleeping can’t yet admit, they are all our children. For an empath like me, escaping the devastation of any of this isn’t an option. It hits me hard out of the blue. Even if I am not seeking it. It feels a bit like a heavy cloud hanging over my head until I express my truth on the subject. With every world event in the news the last few years, my level of psychic sensitivity is aggravated in the aftermath. I don’t mind, because I would rather be in that sense of connection than believe I am so separate that I allow atrocities like this to occur.

The pain of the world belongs to me. Sometimes that makes me feel a bit crazy, but then the others who are awakened come to my rescue and remind me, my heart isn’t the only one that beats for true freedom for us all.

Don’t be afraid to part with that which no longer serves you, or the world at large.






Father’s Day

I struggle with certain “holidays”. Father’s Day is one of those days. It’s not that I don’t feel love and compassion for my dad in his lifetime as Vincent Archuleta. In fact, I find that my own level of compassion for the struggles of real life is usually so high that I tolerate ridiculous behavior from others, usually for entirely too long. I can’t help it, I’m an empath and a healer. Meaning, rather than running from “red flag’s” like so many others, I tend to want to run up the stairs of a burning building. It’s also the lifetime’s of a soldier in me.

I have a friend who is heavily into “positive living”. She’s often spread the word of not frowning at life, but smiling instead. This message has a valid place in the world, sure. It’s the shaming I’ve felt aimed at me in particular at times, that makes me see red. This person has no idea what kind of life I have lived. And she has no place to judge a pain she can not relate to. Every Father’s Day, right on cue, she almost makes sure to rub it in my face that she is a “daddy’s girl”, and how blessed she is to be his daughter. This year I decided I don’t have to tolerate that.

And so here is this blog post about my relationship with my father. A man who wasn’t perfect, but one I still love.

My dad was raised by an abusive man himself, knowing that has made forgiving him even a basic possibility. He didn’t choose to break the chain of abuse, because he had no idea how to even begin. He literally drank himself to death. He bore so much pain for the entirety of his 47 years, that he was a hellish person to be around. And he passed that hell onto his own children and spouse. After he died, I was ashamed that my response to his death was a sigh of relief. It was over. I could live a real life. That was my thinking at the time, coming out of a nightmare.

“I can be free.”

“Maybe there is a real possibility for happiness now.”

That being said, his passing was also incredibly sad for me. I am told by my mother, that I cried more than any of his children did. Not that that means much in the face of the reality that we all grieve differently. I also think maybe I just had more to cry about? It was a mess of a time for us all, as we lost our home soon after. And my mom remarried within the year.

Since my uncles’ passing there has once again been more glorifying of my dad. I think it made us all miss him a little again. 18 years has nearly slipped by, but in some ways it’ll never really fade the scars left by childhood bereavement. I lost my daddy. I lost the only father I will ever have. I lost any hope of having a relationship with him. That is a real loss, felt nearly every day.  And yet I still can’t stomach turning this man into an Angel worthy of our undying worship. And it hurts to feel that that need for some, might come before anyone’s anger or sorrow for what I have been through. Or their compassion.

See how complicated relationships can be?

Even as I sit writing this I wonder who would be mad if they read this? Would they tell me this is wrong? That I’m a bad person for choosing public writing to alleviate some of my suffering? And who might even call me a liar?

After everything I have been through am I not entitled to my true feelings about this man? Am I the bad person for having a complicated relationship with a dead man? I have equally complicated ones with live people, if that eases their suffering about my affairs.

Jennifer Love Hewitt has spoken a lot about her pain over her relationship with her own absentee father, and she gave me personal relief from the guilt complex by saying something along the lines of how difficult it is for her to maintain friendships with women who had loving father/daughter bonds. I can relate. I find that my closest friends are usually at any given time, lost daughter’s. Little girls who never felt embraced by their own flesh and blood.

These women struggle to have healthy self esteem, self worth, and  you guessed it, relationships with men. They struggle in many ways that they are not allowed to talk openly about because it would mean they are bad, and negative, and wrong for allowing suffering to take place.

I personally can’t see myself with a man who has a daughter. I used to think that I wanted a daughter myself, but am currently relieved I am a mother of boys. I can’t even imagine being faced with that loving bond being “rubbed in my face” every day of my life. I am still sore, this is true, despite my best efforts to live in forgiveness. Each new day is in fact, a new chance to be emboldened by my beliefs or to allow myself to be torn back down. I used to fall apart a lot easier, and a lot more frequently over this issue.

I have come a long way.

In an effort to heal, today of all days, I have to ask myself not to dwell on what I didn’t have with my father, but to find that match in other relationships. If I still can’t see the silver lining, than stop comparing my life to others and telling myself that experience was in any way, shape, or form, wrong. I came to paint and create art, and I do that shit better than anyone I know!

We only think we are suffering because suffering has been demonized. If we were to pluck that card right out of the deck, what would be left?


Just life, man.

Beautiful fucked up life.

Namaste’ And happy whatever day you want to celebrate today, Day. Happy, the day I forgave my life for not being perfect day is my choice.

And myself too.





Flash Backs

I’m experiencing oneness. I know, we all are. I’m not special. I don’t deserve a trophy. I’m nobody important. I get it.

I’ll try my best to explain what is currently occurring.

I woke from my slumber slowly and gently. As I came back into my body and reconnected to my life as Alisha Archuleta, I was still seeing visions flash through my mind. They were all images reflecting human connection, such as a couple holding hands as they went skydiving, a baby in the arms of a doctor as it was being born, and many other powerful and joyful human experiences like those ones.

Image after image (they just kept coming) were of the kind of things that warm you from your head to your toes. It was a bit like falling in love. I instinctively understood this feeling to be the feeling of connection, of oneness. I liked this experience very much, and didn’t rush to open my eyes and connect to my real life. I wished I could stay in this feeling forever. It was very gauzy and peaceful above all else.

I recently had another baffling experience when I went to pick up my prescribed antibiotic at the local pharmacy. I had been given a shot of something while in the emergency room that either heightened my sensitivity or made me straight loopy.

As I located the “pick up” sign and attempted to read this sign, I saw the words flash before my eyes (or minds eye) in Chinese!! I heard them whispered in my ear in Spanish, and I actually felt them in Russian. I saw images of each place, and knew instinctively that I had spent lifetimes in all of those places. In Russia I was a spiritual leader with blonde hair. An incredibly beautiful woman. I knew myself to be very important in that lifetime. My name was Svetlana, which I can’t even begin to pronounce correctly in this lifetime.

I actually asked out loud “Do I just not speak English anymore?” I suppose this experience too represents oneness.

I hope to experience more dimensions like this one, whatever is happening. It’s strange to know how close each and every reality really is once you’ve allowed yourself to stretch past your own skin.

I am all that ever was, and all that will ever be.









Dark Diva


I’m beginning to think the “holier than thou” spiritual crowd are absolutely the most mentally ill of us all. There is no trying to have a conversation with someone hellbent on proving how psychologically advanced they are in comparison to you. Like, they know absolutely everything about you in 10 seconds flat. What’s wrong with you, where your trauma resides, what you need to do to heal. All of this from listening to podcast after podcast on regurgitated teachings from one mainstream spiritual guru who currently demands the spotlight. Anyone who knows everything there is to know, knows the least of all.

I inwardly scream now when I find myself face to face with assholes who claim to be good people, who are actually just … assholes. Assholes who can’t factor in the idea that maybe they haven’t experienced every reality, and therefore know dick about how to “save” every lost soul, or soul they insultingly deem lost, who wanders their way. Like it’s their job??

I fear the comments that would be left by a “holier than thou” spiritual reader, because they wouldn’t be about seeing another perfect human being. They’d be about proving a point. The point that are perfect and healed because they are numb, and you are not because emotion leaks out of every pore of your fucked up body. Emotions such as anger, frustration, and sadness have no value in the life of those who seek to follow in the footsteps of an ideal not even that ideal ever was. These people can be downright scary. I promise you, there is nothing connecting about another asshole who has ascended to such a level of spiritual mastery that they no longer feel.

Ever meet someone who instantly makes everything okay? Oh, you hit my dog, I forgive you. Oh you stole money out of my wallet, you’re forgiven. Oh, you fucked my wife, I’m sending blessings your way. I mean, it’s insanity!!! There is nothing enlightened or beautiful about making every nasty and disgusting thing going on in the world “okay”.  And then they cry out that The Universe is so right on, because it’s so balanced. For every person who experiences poverty, is one who thrives. And because they are on the beneficial side of those kinds of arguments, they can actually insist that isn’t that like so fair? Fuck your balance and fuck your god.

These are real human beings with real needs, wants, desires, and hopes. Some of them have only ever known pain, so tell them one more time how to navigate their way through that and become another dull, mild, asshole who feels nothing but gratitude for their suffering.  And shame them while you do it, with snotty remarks about how unhealed they are, please!!

I desperately need perfect strangers echoing words like deflect, project, and inject while shaming me for being … human. Proflect, boflect, snoflect, whatever it is, I already know. I’m doing my spiritual work, but I’m coming from a different reality than they are. And they can’t understand how dark a lifetime can be. Or how much suffering one soul can carry with them.

I’m not defensive about my journey. I’ve worked hard just to be exactly where I am today.

I’ve questioned again and again, my role in the spiritual world, but that’s the problem. My role isn’t to heal average assholes with average spiritual teachings. Or repeat what someone else has already said, until nobody can stand to be near me. It’s to be a connecting force, which almost never looks perfect on the surface. Trust me. There is nothing healing or loving about spouting spiritual idioms that shame the very people they claim to want to help. Miss me with that bullshit!!

I may be an unnecessarily dark diva to some, but those people can’t fathom how beautiful the work of a rebel spiritual teacher (or how profound) will one day be. And that’s not my problem.

It is my belief that true healing will occur in allowing one’s self to become fully human. Not in becoming more spiritual.

Fuck you, but I love your soul.







Hospital Gown

On Saturday I woke up with a pounding headache. Then proceeded to become violently nauseous. This all occurred within half an hour. I knew something wasn’t quite right, as it was so sudden and so intense. I had been bitten by a rat about a week earlier so figured it best to be seen instantly.

A lot of what you read on the internet is simply untrue. Or way blown out of proportion, I learned, as days prior I had done my research on rat borne illnesses one catches when one plays with disaster. It turns out most of what you hear on the streets is straight bullshit. The day I was bitten a neighbor pretty much told me to write my will because rabies is incurable. Also, you guys, rabies has never been given to a human being via rodent bite. One click of a button and my day was immediately better. We are such a fear driven society!

I did however promise myself that if I showed any signs of the real possibility of disease I could actually catch (Rat Fever), I would turn myself in to the authorities. The minute that happened I conned my sister into rushing me to a local hospital. I felt rather ridiculous. The emergency room is supposed to be reserved for that which really is an emergency, but apparently I was feeling ill enough that any relief sounded plausible. I’m glad today that I made that decision. When it comes to your life, it is precious and worth protecting. Also, just having antibiotics prescribed is a comfort in and of it’s self. Though they are making me a tiny bit nauseous and sleepy – I can handle another nine days of symptoms related to my healing. Peace of mind is valuable anytime.

Today my emotional state is a bit jilted. As in, I’m feeling a little shocked and taken aback by the lack of emotional support from people I guess I expected it from. I mean, it takes nothing to ask someone how they’re doing after they’ve been hospitalized (even if it was for an hour), or to send ones love to someone you care about. I even had a few of these same offenders reach out to me for moral support involving their own problems!! Talk about selfish and so disappointing. I am human.

That is where the disconnection in our society begins, and I’m not going to pretend that it isn’t what it is, because that solves nothing. I can not tell you how many times over the last few years in particular someone who should have chosen to confront a rather important situation (with me) regarding many various topics, just sort of … didn’t.

Today I found myself at the hospital again, visiting a “VERY CLOSE  friend”. This after a death in my family earlier this month, and I can’t help but wonder what frequency I’m even on this year. It feels a bit like bubbles rising to the surface in order to become calm once more. I’m feeling a bit shaken up by this year, which often means that there will be collapse of structures long held into place. This could be both detrimental and healing. Probably a bit of both.

Often what is best for us spiritually isn’t what looks best to our human ego’s. And that is where trust in yourself is created once and for all. 

I actually have others seeing my journey and asking me to guide them in a sense. I can not do that. I am on my own journey. The answer really is frustrating, but it’s also freeing. Trust your journey, and trust that you are capable enough to figure it out on your own. Nobody has the hard answers for you, and you should never expect answers to be solid forever anyway. Life is fluid, always flowing and ever changing. There is beauty in that, because just when you think your situation is on lock down, it can change.

You could sit in a room for years at a time, doing nothing, never even moving a muscle, and something, eventually EVERYTHING, would shift.

I’m not feeling like myself this week, but maybe that’s because the person I keep expecting to see in the mirror again, is no longer.

Don’t be afraid to evolve past your highest expectations of self.




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