January 29, 2006
How do you know if you're in the right place?
I don't have too many god pictures in my archives. I figure when I take one, I probably ought to publish it, because it may mean something. But then again, it may not. This one looks like a photographic GPS , in my humble opinion.
Since I had, once again, begun to fancy myself housewifery's Maureen Dowd (sadly, without the four inch, red, spike heels, or any inside information whatsoever), I have not written much about the woowoo. Perhaps I am loath to tarnish my credibility. You know how Hilary Clinton was ridiculed for her work with Jean Houston, trying to have imaginary conversations with Eleanor Roosevelt. Hilary must have given it up for the moment, as now she seems blinded by her own ambitions, or maybe she's just channeling Warren G.Harding instead. See, there's the lesson, Dako, dear, stop being driven by your own blind ambition to become a minor Dowd, and stick to the important stuff.
This picture was taken outside of my nutritionist's office last Friday - that little green snippet on the lower right is her awning, and you surely see where the cosmic arrow is pointing. I walked in sniveling due to a major allergy attack which had started during the night. My nutritionist grabbed her rods and figured out that, I was, in fact, not allergic, but getting a cold, "ANOTHER one!?!," I uberwhined. I was assured that it was just part of the clearing --(even though I don't exactly know what that is, it made me less worried about having immune system failure, which is good).
In checking with her
If you've only been around since my faux Maureen Dowd period began, you may have missed my earlier dalliance with theosophy, Krisnamurti, Elmer Green, Annie Besant and my first college roomate. I was, therefore, most interested to hear that Madame B. has joined the practice -- it seemed more than just coincidence -- if there is such a thing in the woowoo.
As you may or may not remember, in spite of her extreme distaste for mess, especially those made by bodily fluids, my mother (1908-2005) decided to breast feed me at a time when nursing was very out of fashion. After much transferential analysis over the years, I have concluded that, as a result, the mother-child attachment process was infused with disgust for my infantile behavior, among other things. There is altogether too much evidence in my projections to support this theory.
As an antidote to this unfortunate circumstance, my nutritionist provided the energy of mother's milk, homeopathically speaking. It came in little white pellets (as do most homeopathic remedies) that tasted quite lovely as they melted under my tongue. I was not adverse to taking it, but, when her guides told her that there was an obstacle in the way of my healing, I immediately identified that obstacle ---I really don't believe a word of this stuff.
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My nutritionist also concluded, with assistance, that I do not feel that I deserve to be nurtured, in general (as in oxygen intake) given my early experience.
Because of my skepticism, I am given a little metaphorophoto for encouragement -- which, of course, I do not notice until two days later, and then, I'm still not sure exactly what it means, since I have difficulty absorbing. Those little mother's milk capsules will not take immediate effect. Belief is entirely unnecessary for their effectiveness -- or so I am told.
Addendum: See, I'm not the only metaphorophotographer. Be sure to click on Nate Larson's many slide/stories. And while I'm being peripheral, I shall add a quote from Annie Besant - "Not out of right practice comes right thinking, but out of right thinking comes right practice. It matters enormously what you think. If you think falsely, you will act mistakenly; if you think basely, your conduct will suit your thinking. "
Photo note: I have tried your patience quite enough as it is.
Posted by Dakota at January 29, 2006 06:49 AM