In the Ears of the Hearer, In the Eyes of the Beholder; Five Paradoxes of Self Development; One Intention

Why do I see an elephant in the desert?

Work has been a little slow, although I have a lot of rusty German to brush up with a new translation project just revving into gear. Meanwhile, I've been swimming in an ocean of teleseminars/webinars/summits/start-the-year guidance. I've finished my critical paper for my MFA, and am revising the thesis and contemplating what it will mean to have that qualification. It's always been about the process, not the product; but part of being and becoming a writer is, of course, producing a body of work.
Which is why I'm writing a second blog post this week--I've been intending to go back up to two or three posts per week instead of one for some time now, and it's time to put my fingers where my intentions are.
According to one of the wise teachers I listened to this past week, an African proverb says

While you are praying, move your feet.

Set the intention, open your heart, believe in yourself, give your subconscious the experience that your desired outcome is already in existence, pray, ask the angels for help, pay attention to your dreams...

and act.

It's my belief that we see and hear what we believe in, and also that we see and hear exactly what we need to see and hear in order to shift our beliefs. (Otherwise, why would we see elephants in the desert?) If that's a paradox, here are four more from the wisdom I've been absorbing:

1.  Say "yes" to what the universe offers you   OR   You must know when to say "no" to what's offered
2. Talk about your intentions and recruit other people to broadcast them to the universe   OR   Don't talk about the intentions; don't give naysayers the chance to pull you back
3. Set many intentions for the year  OR  Set one or two intentions every month   OR  Set one or two intentions on your birthday   OR  Don't set intentions at all
4. Only you know what is true for you; tune in and listen to your inner voice   OR   If your best thinking isn't getting you where you wish, get some good help/hire a coach

I'm in transition right now. Coming to the end of my time in Alaska, but not yet knowing where to next, or when. Nearly finished with my MFA, with no six-figure book contract or tenure-track position in sight nor solicited. 

I'm also the smallest I've been in close to ten years, less than when I went away in 2012. I feel better than I did then, though, so I'm still musing over whether it's truly an issue in my current transition.

One intention I do want to put out there, though, is that I intend to produce more than I consume.

It isn't my plan to accomplish that merely through minimal food consumption! 

My intention is--more beauty, more joy, more sharing, more dreams, more giving, more receiving, more learning but more teaching too, more excellence, more love, more blog posts--MORE!

So there's a bonus paradox for you.

Watch out for another post soon in which I'll share some commonalities in all the different wisdom I've been absorbing. Oh, and check out the Future of Nutrition Conference, starting Monday January 27, in which I expect a plethora of paradoxes, since nutrition thinkers from all sides of the spectrum are going to be giving of their best--55 of them!

Love and Light in ears and eyes.

Of Snow and Pressure

I never imagined my spirit döppelganger would be a little white dog with tan markings, who lifts her leg to pee like a boy dog but is easily as freaked out by loud, high-pitched noise as am I.

Cool picture, though, no?

We followed snow machine trails, which meant we heard snow machines a lot, since this was on a weekend.
Trust of brazenly striking forth into snow, sometimes happening upon a house or cabin unexpected breach of private civilization, sometimes hurtled at by a territorial (but thankfully harmless) dog.

Trust of Roxy for me, so scared by the snow machine noise that no matter where the sound was coming from, she regarded "safe" as behind my back, in my footsteps. 

Trusting of deep and late-winter snow after a week of sunshine, going off trail.

This beautiful hole in the snow was on an old snow machine trail, where the snow was deeper and slushier. 

A look around showed we were about five or six feet off the ground!
No surprise, then, that the next step I took after that photo, I punched through thigh deep (yes, that is my crotch).

And there's my mini-me trying to help--or maybe just get in as close as possible--as I endeavor to pull myself out of the canted hole (and take a picture of it all).

Oh yeah, and when you punch through, you come out with a bootful of snow.

This was an old snow machine trail, as I was saying. In other words, a machine ten times my weight went by here and didn't fall through. And I did. Don't worry, that didn't lead to even a moment of self-flagellating "I'm heavier than a snow machine." I know better than that, at least! It's all about pressure. It's all about spreading the weight. When we came back another time, I brought the snowshoes.

What am I saying here?
I drug my foot (the other one stuck in the hole) for so long writing and publishing this post, mostly held up by the photo uploading phase. Since what I really want to do is write, and since I wrote in my head at least two posts that never got written up here, getting blocked by the visuals seems ludicrous and typical self-sabotaging logic. It's also about the pressure--focused pressure that makes me sink rather than spread pressure that would float even if ten times my size. Guilty as charged, and awareness will help me do better in future. 

Lately I've been feeling not like a mirror but a portrait, being constructed and created by a plurality of people, places, animals, ideas. It's as if my own emotions are in suspended animation, reacting in a gesture that palely mimics the emotion of a real person. As if I'm Pygmalion's Galatea, except Pygmalion is multiple and I am muzzily self-aware.

I am cast loose on the sinking snows or watery eddies of relationship, as a marriage turns to friendship, as a friendship turns to a work relationship, as acquaintanceship possibly turns to landlord-tenant, as my relationship to this town and the land and water surrounding it take on a growing tint of future past. 

And I'm forgetting basic things. I left a tap running one day, the stove on another; sometimes I completely lose a recent event that I know all about. Perhaps I'm going to start forgetting names and to eat or sleep. Or perhaps it's "just" stress.

I'm not in the crucible this time, nor am I the phoenix, as has been the case in the past. This is all about water. 
All I can do is trust. Maybe, like Roxy, look for something to hide behind. The only somethings I can think of  are my journal and my notebook.