Tag Archives: Happiness

power-of-faith

The Power of Faith

As a writer, I’m ashamed to admit that I rarely allow others a glimpse into my psyche and though I will often joke about my warped brain, the fact is I have always been a thinker.

Some consider this a boon but in all honesty I find that thinking too much is more painful than peaceful and wisdom can sometimes be, well, overrated.

Why?

Because there is a certain type of profound solace in simplicity and when it comes down to it, when I reminisce about knowledge, I picture a calming, peaceful, bright hue.

Not many people know this but some years ago I hurt my back, not exactly in a debilitating way (at least from a scientific perspective) but one that nevertheless paralysed me in living a life full of happiness and positivity through my late teens and into my early twenties.

During the time, I had begun to read a book called Living with the Himalayan Masters by Swami Rama and Autobiography of a Yogi by Sri Paramahansa Yogananda.

Now, I am a Hindu but I have been very fortunate to have been reared by parents who always pressed the importance of spirituality over any religion on my sister and I and for this, I will always be grateful.

So I really do hope that you see that the faith I am talking about is not attached to any particular religion or version of “God” but rather as a testament to the supremacy of faith and belief and Creative Life Force (as Sri Yukteswar Giri defines it) that we all have within us.

I haven’t had back pain for many years now, strongly believing that I had received a miracle of my own after a kind-hearted, gentle swami of my father’s told me with complete assurance that it had been fixed. Viewing it as my own version of a miracle that mirrored an event in the Autobiography of a Yogi, my mind, heart and soul completely believed his words and soon my back pain became a thing of the past.

Late last year however, it returned. I had nagging thoughts on how I couldn’t possibly deal with the pain all over again and how maybe I hadn’t received my miracle. In one short phrase – I had been infected with doubt.

One of the worst possible human emotions and weaknesses that any of us can let creep into our lives – doubt.

My parents have my whole life really, been my very own personal “God” in many ways and even their words of reassurance had little effect on the virus of doubt that was infiltrating my pores.

About two weeks ago I got a CT scan and the results were, to me at least, devastating. The problem had gotten worst according to my radiologist, and my doctor (who can’t read x-rays) made it appear to be even worse than my radiologist’s report.

After days of depression and heart-wrenching panic, I was in pain, plagued with mental and physical agony so I did some soul searching and sifted through my Autobiography of a Yogi copy and just opened random pages to “see the light”.

By utter chance, I landed on an excerpt where a disciple of Sri Yukteswar was beside himself because all the doctors he had seen had declared that he had a maximum of three months to live. The disciple had ran to his guru to beg for help and Sri Yukteswar has laughingly chided him for believing doctors who knew nothing about the Creative Force of all Beings and had proclaimed that he would be healed regardless of what any medical practitioners or experts stated.

The disciple had asked if he should continue with the medication to which his guru had replied – it’s up to you, take them or throw them, they will have no consequence on your health. The disciple got worse and worse by every passing hour but his faith remained steadfast, after all, his Guru had said he would be fine. Just when it looked like he had no hope, the next morning the disciple was completely healed – as if a miracle had just occurred before everyone’s eyes!

Though I am not comparing my situation with the dire one of this disciple, I decided last week, after reading this passage, that I too would have complete faith on my own miracle.

I didn’t care how it would happen, but all I knew is that it would happen – regardless of what anyone said or anything I saw.

Today, I went to my physiotherapist and though I had some trepidation, my faith remained steadfast. My Creative Life Force is unbreakable, undefeatable – omnipresent.

My CT scan had been misread and misdiagnosed by the radiologist; in fact, my back has one of the most beautiful curves (my physio’s words, not mine!).

I have my miracle and it’s one of the most beautiful feelings ever.

I have learnt two lessons from this:

1 – Positive thinking is absolutely the BEST medicine out there and it’s completely free and you don’t need a prescription.

2 – If you believe, I mean, truly believe no matter what, you WILL have your miracle, I promise it!

I know this is a long piece but for those of you who are down and in despair please know you are your very own version of “God” or a superpower. It’s all you, you just have to realise, experience and celebrate it.

Once you embrace the power we all are, you will quickly come to realise that YOU are omnipresent in every way!

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relaxation-road-trip

It’s that Time of Year Again …

Finally!

The Summer season is around the corner for us Southern Hemisphere people.

Work officially ends in about four weeks and from now till then I will not be venturing into the world of functioning folks due to my monstrous, inhumane work schedule -_-

Which is saying something considering my “functioning” self is a far cry from everyone else’s normal functioning selves. That makes minimal sense. I realise that.

Which is why I have decided to give everyone of you a break. As well as my poor brain so it doesn’t break any further.

Enjoy the festive season with your loved ones my wonderful, awesome-st peeps and tell me all about it when I get back.

In the meantime, I will be taking a road trip (in case none of you got my cryptic featured image there) and will let you know all about it upon my return (that sounded a lot grander than I had first envisioned – like King Arthur type noble).

Any guesses on where I’m going? Let me know and I’ll give you an invisible present if you guess right. Seriously, it’ll be so invisible, you will never be able to find it.

Jusqu’à ce que je reviens, au revoir mes amis! (I love Google Translation).

Writer's Block

It’s Cold & the Writing Part of my Brain is Frozen.

I swear, this is a viable condition often experienced by Writer’s in winter. It’s called Frozen Writer’s block. There’s no cure except for gluttonous extreme vegetation in front of the BBC channel for inspiration.

You know that saying, one girl’s loss is another one’s gain. You’re welcome, another week free of punishment from my brain. Don’t say I don’t give you anything.

Disclaimer: For faster results, attack the virus with a never ending supply of buttered popcorn and unhealthy salt and fake cheese infused Cheese and Bacon Balls.

Let me know if you want my address or I could just lie here with my mouth open and you can pelt junk food into it. See, there’s a positive to everything – even Frozen Writer’s Block.

Can't tell you from a Bar of Soap

Beetroot Beatrice can’t tell you from a Bar of Soap …

Just another saying I do not get.

Isn’t this stating the obvious?

Pray tell what angle I should be looking at you from to ascertain the resemblance between your noggin and a bar of soap?

What was the person who came up with this metaphor on?

Clearly he/she was high … from all the soap fumes they had been exposed to in their obsessive compulsive bathing phase.

Seriously?

So, though you can find the very unimaginative (in fact this one was so bland even the author hash-tagged it #boring. Kudos to self-critiquing acceptance, I’ll join you one day. In the next life … perhaps) origins of this ridiculous saying here, I thought I’d give you the true, real version. The one everyone is too scared to tell you about because it’s made up of the stuff that inspires Horror Stories.

This saying was developed by Beetroot Beatrice; she was a friend of an ancestor. No scratch that. She was the ancestor of a friend of a friend. No one in my family came up with this one.

Beetroot Beatrice hailed from the great Aussie outback, somewhere near Uluru because I like rocks. But this is Beetroot’s story. Beatrice was nicknamed Beetroot Beatrice because she was purple. Hellllooooo!

And the kids weren’t quite as cruel yet to call her anything else. The anti-bullying programs were better those days. Plus Tellytubbies hadn’t been developed yet either.

Anyway I digress.

Beetroot Beatrice was very self-conscious about her purplish tinge and decided, against her … and her friends … and her parents’ better judgment to wash the purple “off” of her.

When a day and a half of incessant scrubbing didn’t work (in fact, it kind of had the opposite effect and made her more purple), she decided that the colour infliction must evolve from the inside of her so she decided to clean her intestines with soap and proceeded to eat it bit by bit. As a sidebar, if I had been born, I could have told Beatrice that this didn’t work and instead resulted in preposterous and mind numbing continuous hiccupping but I wasn’t. So tough luck but whatever.

Legend has it that Beatrice’s parents came back from a Fly Fishing expedition only to find a semi-conscious Beatrice maddeningly repeating the phrase, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap” continuously. Apparently, Beetroot Beatrice was confined to her bed in the Mental asylum for the next forty five years torturously repeating the words, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap”, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap”, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap”.

You get the picture.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, Beatrice died on the “can’t tell you …” section and never got to finish the sentence according to her psychiatrist Mr. Bath (I know – an unfortunate coincidence).

Poor Beetroot Beatrice. Apparently she still haunts the sand dunes of which ever place is closest to you so next time you take a bath, make sure you check your soap hasn’t had a bite taken out of it.

I know. Scary stuff.

You’ll never take a bath the same way again, will you?

Those are the power of words. And soap.

But pretty much, mostly words.

Writing a Novel

Write for the Likes or for your Like?

It’s a question all of us writers have been (or will be) inevitably faced with, let’s be honest.

Do you write for yourself or do you write to become popular?

But here’s the deal:

When you write for the masses you get recognition. When you write for yourself, it’s this amazing cathartic experience that may keep you off the suicide watch program. Though slit my wrists Suzie may have been pushed to the backburner for a little while, chances are no one else really cares.

Write for everyone and at least you get a comment or two amongst that deafening crickets’ sound I at least, have become so very well versed with.

My suggestion?

I’ll be damned if I know.

What?

C’mon, it’s not like you come to this blog for answers is it? Because if it is, please don’t.

Really.

I already have enough lawsuits led by Psychiatrists around the world against me and I’m kinda broke, so the joke’s on them.

But still, I don’t want your insanity on my conscious. You have been adequately warned. Just be entertained or at least pretend to be, my ego bruises easily.

Thanks. xoxo

Did You Check if I had Two Left Feet?

I’m not kidding.

I asked my mum this question the other day and she gave me her characteristic “if I’d only known, I may have decided otherwise” look she often gives me when I question her, just before her trademark roll of her big, brown eyes.

I’ve been taunted for my Two Left Feet syndrome for quite some years now and I have only recently began to brandish them to the World with pride.

This is due, largely, to my newfound appreciation for being a walking disaster.

Why? I hear you ask (I’m ignoring the slightly sarcastic tone I hear as well), so please allow me to educate you on the behalf of all Two Left Feet inflicted human beings (and animals – because my Dog, Dashy Boy had four of them. But that’s another story).

  1. I can bask in the glory of falling everywhere, from famous monuments, like the Louvre and the Taj Mahal to more mundane areas like my school bus stop without fail, mind you, every single Monday, Tuesday and Thursday.
  2. Competing the caricature move with elegance and poise. No one, I repeat, no one can fall as fluidly in a skirt as I  can. Except perhaps my sister. What can I say, it runs in the family.
  3. Not being embarrassed at anything anymore. After succumbing to the fact that I will always, and I really do mean always, fall right in front of the hottest guy in the universe at each and every stage (and never in their lap like the Fairy tales falsely predict), I find that nothing can quite bring a rosiness to my cheeks any more. On the downside, this does mean I have to spend more on makeup but at least its easier on my nervous system and internal organs.

And there you have it, why two left feet is a blessing rather than a curse. You can provide more statistical research in the comments section below if you wish. I’ll even cite your expert opinion in the PhD Thesis I’m planning on completing on the topic …

Happy Holidays Everyone!

It’s that wonderful time of year again.

My favourite month is just around the corner, summer holidays for us Aussies! Yay!!!

I know I probably say this every year, but man am I ready for a break. I go on unofficial leave in about 2 1/2 weeks time and official leave in 3 1/2 which means that there’s a lot to do before I officially hang my socks up for the year.

It also means you lucky Bloggers get a much needed break from moi till about February, 2016 unless I sporadically post in between now till then because I absolutely have to.  Just to check up on all of you mischievous followers. But, you’re my mischievous lot so I love you 🙂

Anyway, have a wonderful, magnificently marvellous festive season with the people you care for and who love you back (because that’s important, just saying) and I will see you all in 2016.

Thanks for the laughs this year, you helped me get through many a dreary day. See you soon xoxo