Quietly Desperate

Trying to get out a blog post when you don't know what you're going to write is like birthing a baby at 36 weeks: you can do it, and it may turn out absolutely fine, but boy is it something you'd rather not do.  You wish you could leave it in there another couple weeks to fatten up.

My life right now feels like I'm 36 weeks preggers (but I don't anticipate delivering early).  I've got something growing, something wonderful cooking in the oven but I can't see what it looks like; I only feel it moving around, stirring things up inside me.  That and it gives me gas.  I am generally very aware of these kind of changes arriving in my life.  I'm attuned to the need for a new direction and so far I've done very well when following it.  Moving to Los Angeles, that was something I felt coming for years.  (Yeah, can you imagine being pregnant for years?  Not comfortable.)  The change in course made itself felt inside me for a long time before I Janned-up and acted on it.  Until I did, I lead what Thoreau called a life of quiet desperation.  To live unfulfilled, stuck in a moment in time and unable or unwilling to grow beyond it is not the way life is intended to be.  It's uncomfortable, constricting and depressing.  I wanted to live here for years but sat in the fear of what such a huge change represented.  I sat in New York miserable with my life.  When a direction inside you makes itself known and you ignore it you become spiritually out of alignment.  The best chiropractic adjustment, received automatically when you act upon the inner-knowledge, allows everything in your life to flow.  The life energy inside once again pulses and pours through the dry river beds of creativity within.  You allow life to happen once again.

I've been at my "day job" darn near about 36 weeks.  I put that in quotes because that is what it was suppose to be - a temporary, flexible opportunity that would allow me the convenience I needed to nurture my real career in performing.  36 weeks later I am still there, darn near comfortable in my desperation simply because it's familiar and convenient.  But my life energy is at a trickle!  I miss feeling its cool, rapid flow coursing through me.

"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." - Henry David Thoreau 

I must sing my song now, loud and joyfully.  I must allow my life-energy to again course furiously through my being!  I welcome this baby to come, whatever it is.  Perhaps it needs a few more weeks to fatten up, and I'll allow it that.  But I'm going to focus all my energy on birthing it.  I have a feeling it's beautiful.