Diane’s Blog

Okay I know that for those of you of a certain age that song title is incredibly vapid, but “Subterranean Homesick Blues” just doesn’t describe this week’s musings; Ms. Spears’ pop hit does.  What I did again is listen to my ego voice as though it was my truth.  It isn’t, of course; Spirit is the voice that carries our deepest truths.  But I got sucked in by the ego’s thoughts and didn’t recognize them; they can be so darn convincing.

I decided to share this week’s process with you because it’s what we all have to go through over and over if we choose to evolve.  (I’m talking spiritual evolution here — this dimension apparently escaped Darwin)  I had always been confident that this web site would do well — meaning people would take advantage of the personal guidance I offer.  That confidence seemed to flip over on its head about a month after publication of The Soul Garage.  I found myself suddenly entertaining thoughts like, “Nobody will even FIND this *!&# web site, forget about requesting guidance!”  And more recently, “Oh, who cares, anyway.  It really makes no difference to me.”  Wha ’sup wit dat?

Within three weeks my vision for my work went down the toilet, and along with it went my sense of moving in a certain direction; suddenly I was lost.  I finally did what I learned to do back in 1992 when I first began receiving answers to my life questions in written form from higher guidance — I sat down with pen and paper, aligned myself with Spirit, and asked.  Because much of what I received in response is universal, I will now share with you excerpts you may find useful:

 ”Your dilemma is this: You haven’t a clue when your work will take off and this is driving the ego crazy.  Its response was first — “Oh, it’s just a matter of time” which quickly has degenerated to, Nobody will EVER come to me for help –fuck ‘em!”  Does this sound familiar?  It should, as it is a long-time response system set up by your ego many years ago to protect you from outside disappointments.  This is not your truth.

 Your truth is that you are now offering to the world grace in the form of your answers to individuals’ most pressing problems, and you know you are the real thing.  Your truth is also that whatever happens, Diane will continue to evolve.  The timetable is set only by the ego, which wants Diane to feel guilty for not DOING more at this time — does that sound familiar? In order to feel the motivation you want you will need to discern the ego voice when such thoughts arise and do so vigilantly.  Right now you are accepting that voice as your truth and are becoming lost in it.  Your work WILL be found — never fear. 

 Allow yourself to have “negative” thoughts and feelings without judging yourself, Dear One.  The thoughts in themselves are harmless, and you only give them power by dwelling on or by immediately pushing them away.  Acknowledge them, thank them, then move on.”

 So you see, I did it again.  I gave more authority to the external world than my internal wisdom.  Although I don’t do this nearly as often as I used to, obviously there is still work to be done. So for all of you who are choosing to reach for the life you really want, please know three things:

1) Notice your thought processes, especially when they become negative and/or you find yourself feeling guilty about not being good enough in some way 2) Go with Spirit’s guidance, whether on your own or through someone like myself, and 3) Forgive yourself, no matter how many times you catch yourself buying into egoic thoughts as “truth.”  What matters is walking through this corrective process — how often is irrelevant. 

 Each time we choose to align with Spirit we are learning to carry more authentic power.  That’s the kind of power that brings both inner and planetary peace; until we understand this as a species we will continue to flail against “enemies” and feel impotent, no matter how successful we are as currently defined by our society.

Please feel free to contact me here at The Soul Garage if any of this is confusing to you.  I’d be glad to answer any of your questions.

For most of my life I had a fickle relationship with practicality.  Or at least with my beliefs about its meaning to me.  I wasn’t conscious of this and so I got into a lot of trouble along the way, blaming everyone else for my unhappiness and misfortunes. I remember being expected to choose a major for college and being stumped.  If I had allowed myself to believe in following the desires of the heart, I would have chosen theater or dance.  Instead I chose home economics — I hear you snickering out there — in the 60’s this was still considered a viable choice for “young ladies.” 

Within a year it was the “Summer of Love” — 1967 — and my world was flipped on its head.  The rebellious impulses on which I had begun to act rather meekly in my freshman year went into overdrive and my grades suffered accordingly.  I dropped out halfway through my senior year.  Hey — I didn’t need that piece of paper, man!  I was so Mary Tyler Moore meets Janis Joplin — a truly half-assed, reluctant hippie who still had not a clue about who she really was — but now I felt empowered in my cluelessness.  Wasn’t I part of a movement? In other words, I still had a very unhealthy relationship with practicality.  The only difference was that now, instead of completely buying into my parent’s notion of what’s practical I completely rejected that same notion. 

 Hello!  I couldn’t see that I wasn’t following my own blueprint — or rejecting it.  I was rebelling against an image of myself that had been projected onto me by people who thought they knew who I was–or should be.  No one, least of all me, realized how far off we all were. I was 40 years old before I began to suspect that my life was little more then a continual allergic reaction to other people’s vision of me, particularly what was “practical” for me.  How can we make smart choices for ourselves if we aren’t on intimate terms with our own deepest needs?  With our true intentions?  Yet I talk to people every day who never seem to check in with their own gut feeling — or, having checked in, refuse to honor it.  Why?  It always seems to be a variation on “Not practical.”

If we truly are at least as much Spirit as we are matter, can we afford to live our lives as though these vital impulses of our heart are anything less than practical?  If they aren’t, then who IS driving our car?  Have you ever suddenly just KNOWN something is wrong but you ignored that knowing and persisted in acting on what your head told you to do, only to later regret that betrayal of your own inner wisdom?  (Yes–my first marriage, but that’s another story…)

I have a feeling that if we each decided to expand our definition of “practical” to include our gut reactions, within a year we would have successfully steered this planet in a much healthier direction.  I know, I know — that would require a leap of faith because most of us still accept the consensus reality that the ego voice is the ultimate authority.  What if it turns out to be the other way around?  What if our own personal inner guidance system, driven by our intuitive voice is actually the smarter CEO?  What do you think?  Isn’t it time we try something different?

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My parents expected to age as their parents did — retire, find a hobby to help you kill whatever time you have left until your health takes a nose dive; then you croak.  The main difference being that their generation had the new, improved version of aging — it lasts longer — so now you find yourself raising puttering and dawdling to an art form, while stoically avoiding any mention of the “D” word.

For a while there, my parents played out their expectations with a certain flair, if not gusto.  My father, true to his own hermit-like inclination, spent the first 20 years of his early retirement hanging around the house.  He did manage to go outdoors long enough to take my mom on a few vacations, which turned out to be a plus, since it gave her a chance to visit non–Ohio parts of the country before she died in 1994.

My dad entered a difficult period of grieving, but then a strange thing happened: He noticed that he was single.  He decided to take advantage of this unexpected turn of events.  He was only 70, and still youthful.  Waitresses everywhere flirted with him.  And so he stepped off the path that had been laid out for him so long ago by HIS parents.  He started to reclaim some of the adolescent verve that had been left on a closet shelf to fade and die. 

He placed an ad in the “personals” of his local newspaper (shaving a few years from his age.)  He jumped into the dating ritual that he had largely missed in his youth and found a couple of agreeable companions along the way.

That was 12 years ago.  At 83, my father has now re-evaluated the beliefs and attitudes of a lifetime and thrown out much of what he now sees wasn’t healthy for him or anyone around him.  In this he has joined me in breaking away from the “Hausler heritage” of holding on to all your grudges for, well — forever.  At any given moment, fully half of the Hausler clan (not my mom’s side — they were all Finnish immigrants whose days were filled with heroic attempts to utter at least every other word of their “English” recognizably) would have banished the offending “others,” and sides tended to shift and morph in ways that confounded logic and left me scrambling for the nearest exit.

Frankly, I am still amazed and downright giddy at the thought of what he accomplished.  My father was a verbal abuser, controller,  and rage-aholic throughout my formative years.  Our relationship had always been strained — a few times even broken.  In the last few years, that rift has healed.  Now we talk and laugh and even forgive each other for the pain we inflicted over the last half-century.

How could he have the beat such odds?  My theory is that sometimes it takes a disaster of gigantic proportions to shake a person free from the private hell they constructed long ago to keep them “safe.”  My mother’s death was that freeing disaster.  Suddenly everything was up for grabs.  And if that wasn’t enough, the Universe threw in a little prostate cancer and an angioplasty for good measure in recent years.

We will all experience losses as we age.  I am so grateful to have a living role model for not only surviving those losses, but transcending them.  Thanks, Dad.  I love you.  You have been my greatest teacher.

This is a subject I intend to return to again and again, in many different guises: We have to begin to trust our own inner knowing/gut feeling/guidance/inner voice/intuition — whatever words feel most comfortable to you — above all else.  We tend to allow much of our personal power to be sucked up by others.

Yesterday I started thinking about an article I read recently by a doctor of naturopathy.  At first her advice seemed reasonable, since it was about homeopathic medicine.  Then she apparently was nudged by her ego voice which told her to go for it — and she did.  She commenced to wax pedantic on all manner of topics, from healthful foods to sleep habits.  Specifically, how many ounces of broccoli to eat how many times a week, all the way to what time we should go to bed every night, and for how many hours.  There seemed to be no exceptions allowed.

I know this is the information age, but some of us seem to get carried away.  Do adults really need to be lectured on when to go to bed and how often we should experience “evacuation of the colon?”  And who is doing the lecturing?  Isn’t every fourth person you meet an “expert” on something these days?  Personally, as soon as I hear someone being introduced as an “expert” I head for the hills.

How do we discern where the expertise ends and personal opinion begins?  I had an intuitive reading by phone a number of years ago from someone whose work I admired.  About the fourth time I listened to the audiotape of this session, however, I got a funny feeling.  Although 75% of the information was obviously received from Spirit, the rest seemed to be his personal opinion.  Ordinarily I have no quarrel with people stating their opinions.  But it is incumbent upon a healer to differentiate for the public between information or conclusions arrived at from a higher source and that which rests solely on the say-so of the ego mind.  This healer — and a few others I’ve run across — didn’t do so.

As with any other position where people seek you out — politician, doctor, Minister – one has to guard vigilantly against loving the platform more than the truth.  Isn’t this happening everywhere today?  Everyone’s a pundit.  I hear increasingly nutty opinions every day by all sorts of folks who take themselves way too seriously.  And there’s always an audience.

I got pulled into this power matrix briefly myself when I began teaching adult classes about our inner wisdom, and here’s why — Reason #1: A lot of people treated me like a guru.  I was shocked.  They couldn’t divest themselves of their own common sense and wisdom fast enough, so eager were they to hear a “definitive” truth.  Reason #2: I was insecure about Diane’s worthiness.  It feels safer to hand out information as though it is 100% guaranteed certainty than to couch your knowledge in terms of degrees.  “This is fact” rolls off the tongue with a satisfying smoothness that “At least in my experience, here’s what works” never could.

I believe that the human race will not continue to evolve unless they get this issue straightened out.  It’s that basic to the fulfillment of our potential.

I still accept too much information as “fact”, but I’ve trained myself to notice more of my behaviors.  More and more I catch myself in my old habit of throwing away what really feels right to me in favor of someone else’s “right.”  I ask myself, “Does what they are saying really apply to my life, or do I need to check that out by getting quiet and sitting with it for awhile?”  Or alternately just acknowledging the cognitive dissonance I feel.  That’s guidance too.

 We don’t have to throw the baby out with the bath water.  If we pick and choose what really seems right for us from the constant onslaught of wall-to-wall opinion, we can only become our truest self.

If any of this doesn’t fit who you are in this moment, please set it aside.  You’ll be that much closer to your own truth.

I have a high school reunion coming up in October, and I’m shocked at how eager I am to attend.  It’s not as though I haven’t seen these people since graduation; I went to both the 10th and 20th gatherings.  They decided to hold a 25th, but at the time I was too fragile, having just left my first husband a month earlier.  Did they even hold a 30th?  If so, someone left my name off the list, and I think I know who (just kidding–no I’m not).  And now — it can’t be — but it is: the 40-year reunion of Lakewood High in Lakewood, Ohio, where I was born and grew up. I remember being surprised at all the people who flocked in from all over the country at those earlier reunions; now I’ll be one, having moved to Asheville in 2000. 

The reunion committee sent me a list of events and a questionnaire.  I’m sorry to report that I won’t be attending the Friday night informal get-together at a local bar, although I love the concept; it feels so surreal, like a David Lynch movie: An increasingly snockered and rowdy bunch of 58-year-old pre-retirees finally getting up the nerve to vent all that button-down, savage emotion that until now had been semi-successfully repressed.  Spotty-faced, hormone-driven angst erupting intact from the the aging lips of somebody’s grandparent:  “I always hated you, Susie!”   ”You were so hot, Kenny, and I bet you didn’t even know it!”  Spouses backing out of the place to get some air…

Okay, I admit, part of the reason I am not going to expose myself thus is that I could all too easily be one of those characters, verbalizing what I’ve only fantasized I’d say if I had the nerve.  I already know how that turns out, thank you, having made what turned out to be the stupendously unwise choice of calling a high school boyfriend after my divorce–way too soon after my divorce.  Do you know how these things go from personal experience?  Well, perhaps your attempt at re-ignition went well.  Mine, sad to say, went very, very badly.  Not immediately, mind you, although there were signs early on, such as the fact that he went into a sort of hellfire and brimstone rant in the middle of the pizza parlor on our first, er, “date.” Should I have read my inability to get out of bed most of the next day from exhaustion as a clue?

No, I’ll save my one-night-only appearance for Saturday night — the actual reunion “dinner/dance.”  I finally unearthed the origin of my desire to show up this time: two reasons, apparently.  One — I can think of three people to whom I owe apologies.  Suddenly, at this point in my life, such things carry weight.  Thirty years ago, when another boyfriend asked at our 10th reunion, “Why did you take so-and-so to the dance during prom week instead of me?”  I had nothing.  Nothing but some flippant, dismissive excuse.  They say what goes around comes around, and so I experienced real déjà vu when I found myself asking of the “brimstone” ex-boyfriend years later, “Why did you cheat on me senior year?”  I received the same type of response I had given when asked at that 10th reunion. 

I know now that even though we grow up and move on the old wounds don’t necessarily heal completely.  And so I plan to revise my original answer this time, and apologize to two other classmates as well.  It doesn’t even matter if they brush it off — it’s something I have to do so that I can feel a little lighter. Sometimes personal growth means we do what’s necessary to ease our conscience — and we do it more for ourselves than for anyone else.  That’s not selfish, it’s part of bringing our life back into harmony.  Calling back parts of our lesser-evolved self from whereever we let them stray, and forgiving them, because we now know they did the best they could at the time.

The second reason I’m attending this hoedown is curiosity.  It strikes me as very telling that I went to those earlier reunions to see certain people, but largely to be seen.  “How do I look now?” was my refrain, which I now understand stemmed from my low opinion of who Diane was. The questionnaire says, “What have you been doing with your life?”  Tell me instead, “Where has life taken you?” and “Where have you gone that you didn’t expect to go?”  These are the questions I would ask anyone who has lived for one half a century.  and did ask, often, when I was a social worker specializing in gerontology.  Every last one of us is on a unique journey, no matter how mundane it may look from the outside.  It’s always a journey of the soul.  And, as I have elsewhere quoted Pierre Tielhard de Chardin as saying, “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience.  We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”

Come back for Part Two sometime in October, after the reunion.  I can hardly wait to see what scenic routes some of those souls have traversed.  I know this–it won’t be boring.

Earlier this week, during a visit with my friend Ken and his twenty-something daughter, the two of them recounted the blow-up that finally ended his second marriage.  Back then he had not yet developed the degree of self-respect needed to end an abusive relationship early on.  His wife had always been verbally abusive, but this time she crossed the line and grabbed her stepdaughter by the throat.  Ken had to separate them; it got uglier; Ken and his daughter walked out for good.

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Hi, people!  Welcome to my web log.  When I first thought of creating a web site to offer the spiritual guidance I’ve been providing for years, I felt very excited.  Then the fearful part of Diane’s mind rose up in horror: “Why would I choose to expose myself globally when what I do is still so misunderstood, not to mention so little known that there isn’t even a name for it?  Why would anyone want to do such a thing for that matter?  No, I’ll stay safe and just keep offering my services here in Asheville where my work is accepted.”

This inner dialogue ebbed and flowed over the next few days until suddenly I thought of Ethel and asked myself, “What would Ethel do?”  I knew the answer before I finished asking the question.  Allow me to back up and introduce you to Ethel.  In 1992 she changed my life and will always be a touchstone for me.  That October I was a recently divorced, fortyish social worker just beginning to reawaken my long dormant creative powers.  There was a Halloween party coming up at my workplace.  I knew this was my chance to break out.  I didn’t want to go as someone famous — anyone can do that.  Perhaps a twist on that theme; an unknown, barely talented but ambitious relative of some celebrity.  I kicked this around for awhile.

A couple of weeks before the party it came to me in a dream: Madonna’s cousin!  Oh yeah.  Over the next few days this character unfolded and Ethel walked — no, strutted — into my life.  Ethel Ciccone, Madonna’s cousin from the Bronx (with appropriate dialect): a part-time, freelance dental hygienist whose real talents (according to her) lay on the Broadway stage, although so far her talent had eluded anyone casting anything.  I’ll let Ethel take over: “I am aw-bviously the more talented one in the family.  I wasn’t named afta my idol, Ethel Merman, for nuttin’.  Madonna’s all twalk!”  We now watch as Ethel yanks open her lace jacket to reveal a black bustier (French corset) à la Madonna, and belts out the first verse of “Like A Virgin” with a Merman-esque delivery that knocks ‘em dead every time.

The afternoon of that office party I was, for the (very) first time (oooh!) the life of the party.  I had acted in children’s theater and knew I was a performer at heart, but as sometimes happens to young girls, I became too self-conscious by adolescense to follow it.  The next day my boss, who was a New Yorker, accosted me in the hallway.
“Doi-ane,” she said loudly, unwittingly  reminding me who had actually inspired Ethel’s accent and style.  “Do you think Ethel would be available to sing at my reti-ya-ment pah-ty next week?”  “Yes,” I said.  “I believe she would.”  And so she did.  Before 60 people, Ethel, in g and full regalia, sang “Everything’s Coming Up Roses,” Ethel Merman’s signature tune from “Gypsy.”  After a little initial nervousness, she was a sensation.

What does this have to do with you, dear friends?  In the ensuing weeks I began asking, “What would Ethel do?”  Whenever I felt intimidated or shy, she was always there, being who she is in a big way, with no apologies.  We each have an Ethel within us, urging us to play big instead of staying small and safe.  Ethel gave me permission to allow the boisterous, life-embracing part of Diane (who had learned early on to stuff her anger and please others) to come out and announce “I’m here!” to the back of the auditorium.

Acceptance of the entire cast of characters we each call our own plants both our feet firmly on the road to wholeness and fulfillment.  Who is your Ethel?  She may have something very different than mine to show you about yourself, but chances are you’ll find her in a dark corner where you may have left her long ago, out of fear that was real to you.  You and the world need to hear from her.

“Now’s your inning
Stand the world on its ear.
You’re gonna set it spinning
That’ll be just the beginning…”
              –from “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” by Jule Styne and Stephen Sondheim