Manifesting thieves.

Many adverts promising lies are thrown at us daily. You cannot open a single piece (if that’s the word) on social media, without some bullshit being peddled.

lets begin with the spam phone calls. No, I don’t feel sorry for the twit who’s taken a job, that he/she knows entails lying to people all day everyday. You’ve  installed the app that stops these calls, but these crooks are super smart, and by the time the app is installed, they’ve opened a new gateway.  You should know by now, that after you say “hello”, and you’re greeted with silence, (coz they’re trying to bypass app and plug in), it’s spam. Put the phone down. But we don’t. “I’ve got the app” you think, and feel safe. Maybe it’s old Aunty Mildred from Australia calling. But no…

A woman or man, normally a woman with the most efficient voice says “good day, is this x,y,z that I’m speaking to.” You answer “yes”, and OFF she goes, like a dog with a bone, rabbiting on about ‘an accident you had, which you’re owed compensation for’.

Slightly irritated, you put the phone down, not bothering to entertain her nonsense, and sometimes you yell a healthy F. OFF! Depending on your mood.

I scratch my head wondering…

How is it possible, for people to phone other people, knowing they’re talking absolute b.s. and feel nothing? She knows, before she puts the telepromt on, to read the lie to you, that she’s nothing but a low down pathetic liar. She or He, is aware that their job is to lie to people, and they’re okay with this! Like politicians and lawyers.

The worst however, is the “MANIFEST” lie. The thousands of adverts that cover our screens, promising soooo many ways to “manifest” dream jobs, partners, homes, ad nauseum…but the most revolting of this lie, is the promise of manifesting millions.

Why?  …

Because there truly are people, desperate people, who’ll spend their last dime signing up to some bogus site that promises to ensure the manifestation of their dreams, mostly money, (which doesn’t happen) , leaving such people feeling like losers (besides broke and depressed).

All confidence in Self is removed when the millions don’t manifest, leaving the desperate person feeling like a total failure and fool, and completely out of pocket. Of course, they’re blamed by the bogus thieves, who’ve taken their money, if they question why the manifesting didn’t come to fruition!

Lets put the bullshit into perspective;

The man or woman who presents The motivational video, that lures the unsuspecting viewer  is only an actor, filmed in hired locations, or studios, and you’ve swallowed it all, putting all of your energy, money and effort in, innocently believing and excitedly expecting!

If one uses just 1 brain cell, and if one had zero conscience, then that one would be the one hiring models and actors, hooking up websites with pictures of glory that’ll blow the unsuspecting persons mind, and that one would be rubbing their palms in delight, as the poor ba..ards give all their money, hoping to purchase heaven, only to land in hell.

 

 

 

‘Oh, does it hurt? I forgot to ask!’

A man resting on a chair

 

The story of Cinderella is a brilliant example, albeit a sad one, of how people ignore as well as shy away from raw reality.

When one reads or even thinks of the fairytale of a beautiful young lady, (Cinderella in this instance) – who finds her charming Prince, living in an ostentatious castle, (but it’s beautiful right?)  dressed in the finest garb, hair perfectly styled, absolutely she’s blonde (what else?), beaming with joy. That is what they love, and that is what they perceive. Only.

Let’s take the story of Cinderella;

Of course it’s only a fairytale, but if we’re to ‘enjoy’ the finer bits, the ‘feel good’ pieces of the story, then we should embrace the entire story.

The fact that Cinderella scrubbed floors all day on hands and knees with a brush, probably having cracked, dirty and broken fingernails as a result, including hard hands which, if you think about it, is very unflattering, does not enter into people’s minds. Cinderella had to sew her Step Mother and Step Sisters clothing by hand, which meant she’d suffered more than a few pricks from needles. Perhaps her hands often bled? Her clothes were tattered and torn, and I imagine, her hair wasn’t all that clean and definitely not styled. She had no friends, and was made to sleep in the attic.

Viewing Cinderella in this light, how do you now perceive her? Do these raw realities of a child being subject to pain, hard work, exhaustion, and perhaps eating only scraps, make you want to read the story of Cinderella, if no Prince was coming along, no fancy castle, just, broken fingernails, torn clothing and perhaps dirty hair, still have you  reading this story to your children at bedtime? Well, I imagine not. This is an example of  life’s realities, in their truest and rawest forms.

When people ask someone about how he or she lives with any sort of pain or disorder, more often than not, it is out of curiosity, not care. They want to see and hear about the hero in you. The juicy bits where you’re coping against all odds. They don’t want the raw reality of the suffering you endure. Oh God no, that would just be yucky, wouldn’t it? Ruin the entire illusion.

Another example is this; If you’ve suffered a horrific car accident, and end up in a wheelchair, paralysed from the waist down, needing a carer 24/7, including help with going to the toilet, do they really want to know these things? Your bedsores, the pus that seeps onto your bedsheets, because your carer has somehow forgotten to help you turn, the constant ghost feelings in your legs, which are driving you crazy, as well as depressing you, the poo bag you have strapped to your side, because you cannot feel the urge when it’s time for a number 2? Oh no! please no! Will they even enquire or want to hear you share your sorrow, fear and pain? 

No.

They want to know how it happened?  Who was involved? Is your car a write off? ‘I hope the accident fund pay you out well’ (silently wishing for you to give them a share of your loot), and what happened to the ‘other person, who was involved?’ did he or she die? and that’s about it. Perhaps they’ll ask about other juicy bits, like ‘were there witnesses? and ‘whose fault was it?’…..

They won’t ask you ‘where does it hurt?’ They won’t caringly enquire about bedsores in an effort to help,  and if you bring this up, they’ll quickly change the subject, trying to hide their uncomfortable feelings of disgust.  They certainly don’t want to hear about the bag strapped to your side, which if said carer doesn’t change, the content of your feces will spill onto your clothes, causing a horrific mess and smell. And God forbid this should happen when they visit!! They’ll run calling for the carer, and then make up an excuse to leave immediately.

Will they be interested in any pain, depression, sadness, you might be feeling? or the loss of loved one’s who’ve left because ‘they simply couldn’t take anymore of you crying at night’, I mean, seriously, ‘get over it’! You have a carer don’t you? You’re waited on hand and uh…foot! Shit happens man, just get a grip already!‘ they’ll yell.

If you mention wanting a manicure, I imagine the answer would be ‘why?’ they’re so expensive and you’re not going anywhere special are you?’  having lost sight that you’re still human. With feelings and a heart that beats, albeit to a different drum.

Yup. The raw realities. Who wants them? Let’s cut to the part where you miraculously heal, as spinal surgery has come a long way, and you’re the ‘lucky’ one, who was operated on successfully,  and to everyone’s delight, you have the use of your legs again! You don’t need the bag for feces strapped to your side anymore, and you certainly won’t suffer bedsores. What a beautiful ending! (but the ending began when you had the accident, something most couldn’t comprehend). oh wait, they’ll throw in a lot of ‘God is so good!‘ (um, ok, so why did I have the accident then? subject to shame and terror?’)

That’s the part that’ll have them proud to ‘be your friend’.  Your loved one will probably rush back home, especially once you’ve received a massive payout from the accident fund, citing how he/she was, at the time, suffering deep depression, and they’re so sorry they left, but missed you terribly. (oh, sorry they didn’t call, their phone was broken)….

Yep. The reality of life. If not for Prince Charming, poor old Cinderella’s story wouldn’t be in print.

 

 

The Mind is the Source of Happiness and Unhappiness…Buddha

How do I do this? Seriously, HOW the fuck do I do this?

They’re holding your ‘ceremony’ where they’ll sprinkle your ashes in the forest, and then the dysfunctional shitty lot of them, will all get pissed, be ever so dramatic, talk about wonderful, crazy, exciting, witty, daredevil stunts you did, many of which will be untrue, but they’ll all  agree, nod their heads,  exclaiming ‘exactly!; in tandom, no matter what anyone says about you.

Some will cry and sob, and make it all about them, just so that others can put an arm around their shoulders and whisper, ‘oh don’t cry honey, I know it hurts, but she’s in a better place’, and that’ll make the self pitying, self loving, self obsessed person feel so much better. Of course, it’ll become all about who is the most ‘hurt’…how ‘wrong and unfair’ it is that you took your life. So many questions will be asked amoungst them, stupid questions like ‘WHY? she had such a good life!’ or, ‘WHY didn’t she reach out to ME!’ ‘I would’ve helped her! I could’ve stopped her!’ and their pointless self serving bullshit will go on the entire day.

I hear they’re going to be streaming the ‘ceremony’ they’re holding for you, to all who loved you, so that they can be there in real time, albeit over the net. That’s good. I’m happy. There are many people that truly loved you. Your severe mental illness, wouldn’t allow your mind to acknowledge that though. I get that. It’s not your fault.

So my precious Sister. I’m sorry I won’t be at the ‘big’ ceremony. I cannot partake in a party filled with self serving, egotistical, dysfunctional people. As you know, hell, I’m not that functional myself!

I’m sorry I don’t have the guts to join them.

Please understand that I will, with my own family, go to the place where they hold your ceremony the weekend after. To the woods where they’ll scatter your ashes,  with my statue of Buddha firmly under my arm. Incense in hand, loads of candles, that I hope the wind won’t blow out and incense. Lots of incense.

We’ll sit quietly where your ashes are sprinkled. One of us will sing to you. I’ll light all the candles and put flowers all over Buddha. I’ll put your scarf around Buddha, and we’ll sit in a circle holding hands, then as the Gods hold our hands, we’ll peacefully let you go.

I hurt. I pray you have found the freedom now, to really live in Peace.

Your ever loving Sister. I will miss you forever.

buddha

 

 

 

Wolves raised by Lions  

People who suffer with mental illness, in this case, lets say ‘bipolar disorder and/or borderline disorder’ are, apart from all the tears, fears, loneliness and other horrors, only trying to find our pack.

It is my feeling, that we are like wolves, having been raised by lions.! We just don’t belong here.

We’ll think of a wonderful, exciting, over the top, crazy wonderful thing to do, but our ‘lion’ pack will look at us with crossed eyebrows, a bit of irritation and tell us to ‘calm down’. To ‘not be so silly’, or the worst ‘have you taken your meds today?’

Our wolf pack, where we actually belong, would’ve run with us, tumbled in the grass, laughed out loudly, and been as excited as we are!

The lions who have raised us, are simply not like us. They don’t think the way we do. They don’t know what we know and they do not understand us. Often we annoy them with our playful, cheeky natures, and when we don’t want to play, they cannot move us, no matter how loudly they roar!

Our wolf pack, who we are desperately searching for, know us. They understand us, and when we don’t want to play, they will lie down next to us, to ensure we feel safe. Wolves don’t roar. Wolves howl at the full moon, because wolves are spiritual creatures. Lions are beautiful but basic.

We are not basic, yet we are beautiful.

We don’t roar, we howl. We howl for many reasons and every single one of them come from deep within our core. We can howl for days on end, and our sadness in knowing that the lions who raised us, just don’t ‘get it’, makes us howl louder, or, quietens us down, as we creep into a hole, the way wolves do.

We want to dance in the tulips.

We want to play in the rain.

We want to roll in the grass, and slip in the mud.

We want to learn how to pole dance, even if we are 20 pounds overweight, because we have long since stopped worrying about our size.

We want to get up on stage and sing a song, even though we sing out of tune, because it’s fun!

We want to laugh with little children, and dry their tears when they cry, because somehow, we identify with them.

We want to care for the elderly and make them smile, because by cheering up just one person, makes it all worth it.

We walk our talk, and we talk our truth.

We are not fickle, nor do we pretend.

We are authentic and real, and although we are not easy to understand, we are honest in all ways.

We are not crazy, we are wonderfully colourful, brave and strong.

We are wolves, looking for our pack.

 

Image

In Loving Memory Of When I Gave A Shit.

Its occurred to me, (duh) that, due to en masse media bullshit, people are becoming slaves to crap they neither want or need.

If someone hits a tweet on making £50 with Bitcoin over the weekend, (because bragging seems to validate some people), then a hundred or thousand will quickly scoop over to get a piece of the action. I mean, if your friends are dabbling in other currencies, my God, so should you be right? you’re gonna be loaded soon! But no one told you, you need to watch the market like a hawk, forsaking everyone while you play all day, and almost wet yourself, when or if, you make £2.00  –  wow PROFIT!! But if you LOSE £2.00 , you go into instant depression.

so my point is this.

What is actually important? I mean, what really matters while you’re alive?

Eating healthily? ….uh no, we’re all dying, and besides, that piece of toast with peanut butter you deprived yourself of this morning, seems utterly stupid, as you’re lying in hospital when a car hit you, while you were crossing the street. Both legs broken, looks like that ‘ol excercise regime is on hold for a while! (Pass the peanut butter toast please).

Running every morning for half an hour and then hauling weights to get a super hot bod?…….uh no, you could develop an illness at any time, be put on meds, that make you balloon in size. Even if you up your running to 2 hours a day, your metabolism is screwed, so nope, your gorgeous curves are now meaty rolls.

ok you get my drift.

So what matters then? New car?…nope, new house?….nope. You see NOTHING outside of you means anything, if you’re not at peace with who and what you are.

YOU MUST FIND HAPPY!

when you’re on your deathbed, what will give you peace?

Because peace and joy with ourselves, is the only “thing” that no one can take, can’t crash on the stock market, loves you rolls and all, and finds immense joy, in that old car you drive. Of course the peanut butter toast goes without saying.

Laughing until your tummy aches, even though your clothes aren’t “on trend” and your hair is looking like a birds nest, is an instant healing elixir for your entire body, even if no one likes your joke!

the absolute Most freeing feeling in the whole world, is

WHEN YOU STOP GIVING A SHIT!

not that you don’t care about anything.  It just doesn’t matter like it used to, causing so much stress you’re struggling to breathe. So, you simply don’t mind.

swopping distress for acceptance and joy, opens up a real world for you. One that matters to you!

So, if you dabble in bitcoin for e.g. for FUN, coz you have some extra boodle, and if you lose it all, it doesn’t matter, because you’re ok with that. But If it matters don’t go there.

we cannot hope to predict anything. Tomorrow doesn’t exist, yesterday is gone and no longer exists, but NOW is alive. Make this moment happy, and relish that peanut butter piece of toast. Yum!