Meditation Musings

Today’s mindblowing meditation experience.


So, I had another great meditation today.  It’s funny how I say a meditation is great, even when it brings me to tears.

I first felt a feeling, which I remembered the instant it came over me.  I thought, “Hey, I remember this feeling,” and the joy which I felt at its return was indescribable, as was the overwhelming sorrow I felt when I realized just how long I’ve lived my life without it.  I felt the tears, unbidden, come to my eyes; they felt like no other tears I’d ever felt before, and seemed to paint the seam of my closed eyes with liquid heat.

As my meditation progressed, I reached a point where I felt a presence, and again found myself saying, “I remember you.”  Again, I was struck with the same joy/sorrow combination, except so much stronger.  I wept.  The hot tears overflowed from my eyes this time as I again realized the length of time which I had been ‘away’ from this presence.  (This next part may not make much sense)  While I knew my physical, adult body was lying prone, still as death, my ‘meditation body’ suddenly became a child again, and I curled up in a ball and wept. Sobbed, really.  I remember saying, “I’ve missed you so much,” over and over.  Suddenly, I was enveloped, cradled, by this presence, and it was comforting me, and reassuring me that it had never left, and had only been hidden from me for a time, because it was what had to be.

I cannot describe this feeling.  The closest I can come is perhaps akin to how I imagine it would feel to have been born a twin, and being together for the first four years of your life or so, and then they were suddenly gone.  Being so young, you would have forgotten they ever existed… then, you run into them one day, and every moment of love, happiness, and oneness you shared washed over you… the joy at finding them and the sorrow of lost time would be inextricably mixed together.

It was like that.

It was amazing, it was over too soon, and it gave me hope.  Hope that one day I will be rejoined with my companion, that we will again walk in the fields, sit in the sun and just be.  Together. 

I remember my mother saying that when I was little, I was fearless.  That there would be nights when she would look for me, and when she found me, I’d be outside in the pitch black of night, swinging on my swing, singing, having a marvelous time.  I now believe that is because I knew I had nothing to fear.  I was not alone.  (She?) was with me, keeping me safe.

Amazing things are coming.  I can feel it.


Lately, I’ve become aware of my style of communication, and what it may say about me.

I communicate with others through analogies, a LOT.  I repeat myself, a LOT.

I know that I never feel truly understood, especially without using analogies.  I have come to believe that this is because people really don’t understand me when I don’t use them, because I don’t experience the outside world in the same way as most other people, but I experience the same feelings that they do, and I do live in the same world, even though it usually doesn’t feel like it, and through stories, I can be sure I am getting across what I am aiming to, or close to it.

When you add to that a constant fear of being misunderstood, it makes for pretty annoying conversation to muddle through.

I have an almost desperate need to verify that what others are hearing matches what I am trying to say.  I think I’ve always been aware that people aren’t really picking up what I’m putting down, so to speak, which has created a lack of confidence and deep insecurities.

Or perhaps I use analogies so much because I have sensed the differences between myself and everyone else, and I’m so fearful that the differences will cause a misunderstanding, I use them as a sort of ‘pre-emptive’ defense mechanism.

The more I understand who I really am beneath all the programming, the more my confidence grows, which I hope will also begin to clear up my communication.


I like to paint.  I painted on canvas for the first time this past summer, and I really enjoyed it.  Since then, I’ve painted one other painting, but made the mistake of using a really cheap Walmart canvas… it was so much harder than using the smooth canvas in the class.

I can’t count the number of times I have wanted to paint in the interim; how many times I have said to myself, ‘Tomorrow I’m going to paint!’

But I never do.

I don’t know what is holding me back.  It’s irritating.  

Maybe tomorrow I’ll paint.

Solitary Lifelong Learner

I’m alone a lot.

I don’t work.  My husband (Hn2) likes me to stay home, and that suits me just fine.  Jobs are boring… especially any job I could get.  I didn’t go to college (well, one semester; I don’t think that counts).  I should have finished back then instead of marrying my first husband (Hn1).  Now I think I’d rather shave my legs with sandpaper and wade in a pool of rubbing alcohol than go to school.

That’s not to say I don’t like to learn.  I love to learn new things.  I just don’t like to be bored, and school is boring.  They tell me what I have to learn, and make me pay to learn it.  With my short attention span, it’s really not worth it.

I’m on the hunt to find someone like me to hang out with.  Someone who minds leaving their house a little less than I do, but has an eternally curious mind.  Someone with whom I could talk, bounce ideas off of… someone to explore with, who might help prolong my interest in something for longer than a week.  Hn2 just isn’t interested in the things I am… but he’s happy to let me flit around from interest to interest.
I had (have) someone like that, but she’s leaving soon.  Moving across the pond, all the way to Spain.  She likes leaving her house even less than I do, so we don’t see each other as much as I’d like, and that will drop to zero after the move.  I’ll be lucky to see her once after that.  Round trip, US to Spain is pricey, even if you have a free place to stay.

Ugh.  This post is getting maudlin.  Whine, whine, whine… I didn’t create this blog to whine.  Honest.
To be honest (which I am, 97.3% of the time), I’m not quite sure why I started this blog, other than I had some thoughts I wanted to share, and didn’t want to clog up Semantics Station (SS) with endless prattle.  And since I ditched Facebook about the time America lost its senses, The Lunatic Twin was born.

If there’s some law about how often you can post a day, I’m probably going to break it.  Just sayin’.

I’m alone a lot.

Girl (Woman) In Silence

My ears ring with the silence.

I haven’t watched television when I’ve been alone at home for a while now.  I have better things to do.  Like sit in silence, and wonder what I should write in the first post of my second new blog this week.

Yeah. I’m that girl.  Woman.

It’s weird that, even at 36 years old, when I’m thinking about myself, I still have a hard time classifying myself as a ‘woman’ instead of a girl.  It just doesn’t fit well.  Like I’m clomping around in my mom’s high heels, playing dress up.

The only time I assert my ‘womanhood’ is when I feel like someone is treating me like a child.

‘I’m a grown-ass woman!’

I usually wonder, at the times when I happen to notice that about myself, whether that’s normal.  Does my mom still think of herself as a ‘girl’, in her own mind? or is it the part of me that’s still stunted, the inner child that never got a chance to grow up?  Do women which I would label ‘successful’ from the outside, the ones that actually went to college, got good jobs, actually lived alone at some point in their lives… do those women still think of themselves as a ‘girl’ sometimes, or is it just another way that I’m broken?  One more thing to add to the long list of ‘repairs’ that I need to make?

If you happen to find this blog, and care to chime in, please do.  

Is there actually an age where we get to feel ‘all grown up’?  

Is it just a female thing?  

Do men reach their 30’s, 40’s, or beyond, still feeling like a teenager inside?

Ply me with your thoughts.