Long Date and End of the Mayan Calendar

Here's a thought that keeps coming back to me about the end of the Mayan Calendar if using the Long Date:

Per many authorities, the Mayan Calendar ended on 12/21/2012.

For this past year, I'm learning over-and-over that time and space don't actually exist; but we are sense-based humans, so in our perceptions of reality, time and space seems to exist.

But...as we learn to live in the moment (due to increasing our awareness and consciousness), we are able to perceive that when we truly live in the moment, we are set free from time.

So, perhaps the Mayans were somehow aware  that the time of great awakening would be dawning upon the humans and the planet earth.... and that is why the Mayan Calendar ended.

The ending of the calendar could serve as a confirmation to us....that yes, indeed, we are awakening,  and that we are on the right path....of awareness... that time is an element of physical-dimension awareness; and as we become fully awakened, it will make sense; we will know that we are timeless, and all one.  There is no beginning and no end -- There just is the Infinite perfect One.

Trouble sleeping? Check the modified chemical stuff spiking the cells

Last night, I started to sleep, but instead, woke up abruptly and spent the majority of the night wide awake, and feeling like I had a chemical spike!

As I lay there, I wondered if I had any MSG in my food in the evening, as MSG is usually the culprit to blame when I cannot sleep.  (Authorities consider MSG a brain irritant.)  For years, I have avoided MSG.

Well, lo-and-behold, this morning (late morning) as I checked the ingredients of my evening meal, I found "modified food starch" in the pumpkin pie that I bought from a large popular food bulk wholesaler.  

Modified anything sounds suspicious.  (I avoid genetically modified foods as much as possible.)

After an internet search, I learn that modified food starch is a genetically modified substance.  Ugh.

Oh my, I didn't even read the label when I grabbed the tempting, but economical $6 pie at the store.

Upon further research, I learned via the helpful link below, that modified food starch is suspected of containing the chemical in monosodium glutamate -- which is: "processed free glutamic acid."

"The following are ingredients suspected of containing or creating sufficient processed free glutamic acid to serve as MSG-reaction triggers in HIGHLY SENSITIVE people..."   

Please visit the direct link for more information: http://www.truthinlabeling.org/hiddensources.html

Well, my body told me in no uncertain terms that I was experiencing the brain irritant-like symptoms of MSG.  That's proof enough for me.

Someone once said, 'the body never lies."   So, I am listening.  No more pumpkin pie from my favorite bulk food store.

And no more grabbing food without judisciously reading the labels!

I asked my city-of-cells to forgive me.  Lesson learned:  Read all food labels.  

May we collectively advocate in this country -- that we receive proper labeling here in the U.S.  We have quite a lot of work to do in that arena!

Filtering: A Challenge and Responsibility for Learning Professionals

Filtering: A Challenge and Responsibility for Learning Professionals

Curation: A Core Competency for Learning Professionals

Curation: A Core Competency for Learning Professionals

What does design mean to me?

Tonight I was filling out my application for the Wire by Design conference....when the window crashed.  Hmm....guess I won't be trying to fly to San Francisco.

Q:  What does design mean to you?

Design is the dance that manifests when a humanoid hears, feels, touches, smells, tastes, or sees the magic that comes down from the vibrational-pheres (justasposed up there somewhere above or within the exosphere), down to the earth plane. The magic falls upon...or is caught by one who pays attention. Through the five or six senses that we currently understand at this point of our human  awakening, one does her best to translate the wonder of "design,"  through the lifeforce of creating.

What my cat taught me

Otherwise known as -- What my Cat TRIES to Teach me

For the past couple of years I've been noticing distinctly that it appears that my cat has been attempting to help me -- and even teach me things.   Perhaps the word trying is not the best choice of words.  I don't think willow the cat tries -- that would require mental capacity.  Rather, willow the cat is just living by instinct...and perhaps intuition.

Willow lives in the now, the present.  Just observing her sheer joy of life in this way teaches me that perhaps I should do the same.  After all, it's working for her and she is very happy.   Me, I'm only happy for fleeting periods of time...like when I'm living in the moment, or playing, or hanging out with friends.  So perhaps the student has awakened in me and by observing Willow, the extra spill-off benefit is learning.

Willow tells me every night -- when it's time to sleep...about 11 pm or 12 pm each night.  Willow jumps onto the bed, cries, skips about, whines, howls, and even tap dances across my laptop, the laptop keyboard, and appears in a state of distress.  When I don't listen to Willow, like last night, invariably I regret not listening...as I suffer for it the next day.  Today, which is such a day -- this sunny day in which I slept in, and now have less sun and fun on a gorgeous Sunday.

Willow the cat tells me when to get up in the morning!  Again, Willow whines,  incessantly with a distressful voice that touches the motherly instinct inside me.  Oh my, I must answer the call....eventually.  Of course, sometimes I put the pillow over my head.  Willow jumps back and forth over my back, causing the bed to become a trampoline that bounces my reverie.  When Willow feels desperate, she grabs my hair between her teeth and pulls.  Now she is the one acting like the mother cat.  When I don't get up, I regret not listening to wise Willow.  Either a sunny weekend day gets away from me...or I'm late for work again on a weekday.

Willow the cat sits by her brushing-station when she wants me to brush her.  Her brushing-station is her box of toys and her brush.  Down on my hands and knees and I brush Willow...but thankfully, I then do my back stretches.  I think Willow really wants me to stretch and stay healthy...and the brushing of course, is her reward.

Willow the cat reminds me to play.

And the most wonderful time of day is Willow the cuddling cat on my lap. I need no reminders that cuddling is essential everyday.  I look forward to our evening affection.  Willow the cat's purr is the meditative song that keeps me sane and helps to get those glimpses of living in the moment.

May this humanoid become every listening...Willow has more secrets.  I wonder what she is seeing when she darts her eyes up at the ceiling in a lightning fast surprise?

  

map through the fog of your mind...or just play

Mindmaps -- helpful to brainstorm ideas:

http://www.mindmeister.com/?r=145226

Why You Shouldn't Refer to Your Team as "Ladies"

If you get referred to as "ladies" in your corporate emails, I suspect you wish you could send a link to this post to the email sender.

Lately as the office, even the female team leader is calling our female team, "ladies."   The references makes me cringe.  Not that I oppose being a lady; I conduct myself as such.

Why don't you call us, "team?"

Why must you differentiate us as ladies just because we are all female?

Do you call your male team guys or gentlemen?

By the mere fact that you make a difference indicates to me that you, a male manager, also differentiate in the way you view us....and that is a big red flag.  Why do you view women  differently?

Where I work, the manager has two teams:  Our "sub-team" you can say, is all female.  I have never heard or read this manager refer to his other team as "ladies and gentlemen."   He's busted.  As the saying goes, your words disclose who you really are.

When getting annoyed a few times last week (with a female sub-team lead calling us ladies for the second time that week), I did a Google search and only found posts from females who said they didn't mind being called ladies.  

Well, after working hours, when out with my female friends of the same age, I don't mind if we refer to ourselves as "girls."  We know we're on equal ground; we respect one another.

But when I'm on the professional turf, working my best to compete in a dog-eat-cat world  (male dog bullying the female cat), I don't like reinforcing the prevailing and lingering subconscious influence of this culture -- that females in the workplace are any different than the male counterpoint.

The only differences I can detect is that we as females utilize a lot more right-brained resources....and perhaps that is why this whole ladies thing is very disconcerting to me!

OK, go team go!

The Lesson of the Pink Trunk

Intentional downsizing, getting rid of stuff has great rewards on many levels.

Back a few years ago, the craziness of the cardinal climax (an astrological period) catapulted me from a lethargic state of stuck to an adrenaline-fever of cleaning house, decluttering, packing, pitching stuff, emptying closets.

Day 20

Day 20 of this mad race against time...There I was, emptying out the tomb-like bowels of the Narnia-land closet under my basement stairwell. I don't even remember what's under there. 15 years slipped by somehow.  Where did 15 years go?

(A few days later, the real estate sales deal of my place fell through...thankfully, because long-term adrenaline is not a pretty sight on one's body.)

I look around my home:

The basement storage closet: The closet is cluttered with holiday decorations, golf clubs, Halloween costumes, old yearbooks, broken record players...I pulled them all out from under the stairs. Oh, how can I part with my Rosanna-Danna costume? Or my Harpo Marx costume? And oh my, the downtown magazine took my photo as I came down the red carpet that night of a trendy Halloween party when I was dressed as Carmen Miranda. My headpiece was elegant, just as so many of Carmen Miranda's headpieces were.

The Garage Sale

The garage sale was a flop.

After closing up the failed sale, my garage was filled with...stuff, memories, junk, what I thought were treasures, dusty old relics. It took nine hours to pull all that stuff out of my home. Now what?

I repented of being a pack-rat. I asked forgiveness for wasted dollars. I cried tears of regret when pulling out old photos, throwing away another holiday ornament from another  holiday;s unknown year. I had not decorated the house for the holidays in 10 years. So, why is it so difficult to give up the fluffy snowman, the figurine carolers, the amber lights?

Why do I keep this stuff? I might need it...? I detect my own fear...my own want for comfort...fearing I might not have enough...enough what? LOVE!   Did I read too many self-help books?

Day 23

It's night number 23 in the race against time...right after the real estate selling deal of my home fell through. I'm bagging up any useful items for a donation truck in the morning. "Oh, someone will love these treasures," I am hoping, pushing the bags out the door. The last item to go out of the house: The pink trunk.


There it sits: The PINK TRUNK.    I cry.

Rusty hinges. Old flaked paint.  Spider webs.  Dirt.  The pink trunk is not cute...it's filthy. It stinks like an old damp musty basements, old attics, and who knows where else it has been through the generations of drama. The pink trunk of my childhood...retrieved from an attic two years ago; hidden in an attic for 33 years when a family member lived abroad.  (He now lives in heaven somewhere, and I hope he's busy helping the rest of us through this cardinal climax era of craziness.)

I Cry Some More

The pink trunk reminds me of being a child.

Where did that child go? Where did the fun go? How did I lose the fun? When did I abandon the fun? When did I forget?

I cry more.

So many of my family have gone to the other side. So few of us are left on this side of the veil.

The ugly pungent trunk prompts me to cry even more.

Then...Clarity

The sweet light and airy CLARITY flashes like fresh air...like a fairy muse.... like a butterfly landing on my shoulder:  Here is a reward for decluttering -- Getting rid of the pink trunk!  (The pink trunk contains an unpleasant story in a young child's history.)  The pink trunk is creepy and so is it's legacy.

The damn wretched pink trunk should be burned or dumped into a volcano like a sacrifice to appease the gods...donating it is too kind!

This is the creepy dirty pink trunk -- that tried to suffocate my sister!

That sarcophagus of evil that tattooed its traumatic scar upon the flesh of my sister's trust. That phobia inducing vault whose venom paralyses like an Egyptian curse...may you be purged from our family heritage in this cleansing of my life. May the sword of energy vanquish your power once and for all. May the chi of my awakening feng shui banish you to your own tomb of forgetfulness.

May the sisterhood of two women grow deeper and become as strong as the winds of change!

May the clarity of the lesson of the pink trunk awaken every corner of this woman's dwelling: Purge and pitch.   May the letting go of  old stuff awaken every cell in every city of my body, and every intention of my heart.

Yes, there are rewards to be gained from letting go, purging old stuff, purposely changing one's life!

Letting Go of Stuff Makes Way for Positive Change