Trance-Ended

Jim Kwik is one of those fast-paced and brilliant marketers who has a wonderful program to offer us: HOW to LEARN more QUICKLY. (Kwikly?)

Because I cannot resist a PUN, one of his word-play offerings caught my eye. 

He broke down Transcend into Trance and End. I love the idea of ending the trance in which I and many of us find ourselves living that makes us repeat ad nauseam the put-down mantras of our past: I'll never be smart. I'm too dumb to understand this (your subject here). Maybe next lifetime I'll be good at (your wish here).

My personal trance seems to be: Nah... visibility is not for me. Publishing a book is dangerous. 

I'd like to end this trance, but fear what will happen if I DO complete my nemesis of a chapter: Chapter EIGHT! Chapter Eight has got me stumped, so, if I don't finish it, I won't have to struggle and get this dang book OUT, right? Seems a cosmic joke that I'm struggling to give birth to a book about getting stuck during the birth process that left me with an imprint of hopeless helplessness!

It's a losing proposition. As someone I love says: You miss 100% of the shots you don't try. (Don't ask me about those Warriors, please! I was knitting while watching Saturday's basketball game between the Dubs and the Raptors. From willing them to MAKE those three-pointer and free-through baskets they were trying for, my tension got SO inTENSE, I had to undo some of the knitting so the hat I'm making wouldn't end up being a head-ache band!)

The shots I'm not trying are Chapters 9-12. What would happen if I did walk away from the not great eight? Nothing. Except...  the incentive to finish the book might return. What a concept! 

EMERGENCE is a unique perspective on how our coming into the world marks us. Emergence shares simple tools for undoing the Fight, Flight, and Freeze that may have been locked into our nervous system when they couldn't be expressed. The bound energy of those Three Graces, F, F, and F can persist well into our adult years. Unresolved birth trauma can make navigating life much more difficult than need be.

I'm ready to emerge into the world as an author, but for the fact I've not yet ended the Trance; I've not yet Trance-ended the messages of helplessness I took to the marrow way back when I came into the world. 

Who's gonna guide me out of the trance? Who's gonna help me find the way past Chapter eight, which maybe is too close to my own birth story to be able to see my way through it. 

So many modalities. So many great results over decades! Finishing touches make the day. Where's the glitter? Where's the bow on the package? Just a little further... wait! I can see the light at the end of the proctoscope... and am hoping it's not the light of an on-coming train!

If it isn't one thing, it's your mother. 

Mom and I were up there on the ceiling of The Stork's Nest Lying In Hospital for Women in Inglewood, California on October 6, 1948 - looking for each other. Both of us out of our bodies looking down on the inert woman who'd been given morphine and ether and the bluish looking baby as she came out of the woman. Maybe our spirit selves shrugged our etheric shoulders. Maybe we made a Bee-Line for the bodies that we wanted to live in. Gee,  wonder if we got mixed up? So many times, it felt to me as if I was the mom to my mother and that she was my child. Hmmmmmm.... Nah... meant to be. I was the baby. She was the mom (most of the time).

Oh, dear, I'm getting so sleepy. Is it the conjuring of ether? SO sleepy as I write. wow!

Nodding off. wishing I could talk with her, now that she's gained a much broader perspective of the world. I do believe, that when we die to this world, we find ourselves in a world of pure consciousness... where there is no up/down, Left/Right.. Only awareness of concepts and directions. When my eyes close, I'm inside the computer and keys from an old Underwood Typewriter are striking me with all their metal arms. They are springing up on me randomly, without pattern or predictability. 

Awake now.  Perhaps 5 hours sleep is not enough for a groaning girl.