Very Superstitious

Very Superstitious

Very Superstitious

Are you spiritually superstitious?
I’m pretty sure I am.
No, in the spirit of full disclosure, I KNOW I am.
I’ve taken to practicing all these little rituals to maintain a semblance of spiritual order.
It’s like I just keep catching myself repeating certain actions, or developing habits
that are starting to make me feel like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man.

Do you do that?

Sure you do.

You don’t?

Shit.

So.. I write this blog…everyday.
Unless I don’t, which is seldom, but I’ll still post an inspirational saying or photo.
The pressure is immense! (not really, I actually love it)!
But somewhere between my devotion to this blog, and my amazement that something actually comes to me to write every day, I’ve become spiritually superstitious, I guess to keep things flowing in an orderly manner.

Until recently, I didn’t get out of bed until my little ritual was complete,
And it went like this:
1) Wake up, say “thank you” (in my head). 
If I say it out loud, my husband will think something amazing happened last night, another thing he can’t remember, and it’ll just piss him off. 
So the “thank you” is always silent. And must not be skipped!

See, there it starts!
Because…step two is:
2) Sit up and meditate.
But if I’ve forgotten the “thank you” part that comes before, then it kinda turns into my mantra, so the Universe can be clear how much I appreciate another shot at this life.
Then my mind isn’t empty enough for it to count as a REAL meditation,
so I have to sit longer until it does. 
I can feel you judging!

3) Then I write. 
Really what I do is I just get out of the way, and let the Universe/Muse write.

Then I get out of bed and pee.
Always in that order. 
If I change it up, it just doesn’t flow. I’m just not on my game.
Like the major league pitcher who wears the same socks and underwear to
every game he pitches, to ensure his good luck, I’ve developed these crazy superstitions.
( Hmmmm…same socks and underwear, food for thought).

I’m sure I do it also to maintain my good standing with the Universe.
It’s never too late to start, right?
Because…
Do you curse?
I do.
I have a mouth like a sailor, and I fear that may be the end of enlightenment for me.
Do monks cuss? I don’t think they do.
Nuns do, this I know for sure!
I remember a nun in third grade called us “damn kids”.
She may then have spontaneously combusted…I can’t remember.

I can just see it, I’ll be on the top step of the ladder to Heaven/Nirvana,
and I’ll realize I left the secret password to the Pearly Gates on the kitchen table,
or in my other purse! 
“Are you f* ing kidding me, Shit!”

“You can’t say that! 
God doesn’t like a potty mouth! 
No wings for you”!

So, I feel like if I say thank you, and meditate and then write, in the proper order every day, and I mean EVERY day, it offsets the cursing, and all the other stuff.
Like I have earned the “Grace” every author requires to create.
See what I’m talking about?
Are you with me?

But… last time I checked we were all human.
We curse and we cut in line at the cleaners, (well, I guess I should just speak for myself) and we sleep in and forget to meditate (gasp).

We can shake things up and still enlighten, right?
Perfectly imperfect?
If my desire and intention are pure, no need for ritual or luck.
None of that “same socks and underwear” stuff needed to ensure my success, because I’m learning it really isn’t a matter of luck at all!
It’s all about trust.

I can pee first and then write! No harm, no foul!
I try to write three hours a day now, (the operative word being “try”), so it doesn’t have to be first thing anymore, and as far as I can tell, the earth is still spinning on its axis.

So now it’s:
1) “Thank you”
2) Meditate,
3) Then get up… To maintain world order for now, and to keep the “Grace” coming.
But, if you start to notice things have gone a bit awry,…
I may have slept in.

1 Comment
  • Steph says:

    The spontaneously combusting nun just created a mental picture that I am sure will questioned when I meet St. Peter. LOL

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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