Succulent Single Ladies, Selfie swinging Zimbabwe style ritual

Confessions are opportunities to acclaim our truth. Honesty can have the habit of appearing as the midline divider on the highway. It may seem precarious, as if we thought to walk there it would be. Yet, it’s actually the safety zone separating oncoming dangers. Therein is an irony about how truth is a prolific protector. The more we divulge what’s going on inside of us the greater the possibility to reveal what matters most. When we have the succinct knowledge of why something is important then we have the goal to map the path to receiving it. Revelatory rituals are a means to keep you in the optimal survival stance. As we shake the shabby patterns to disclose our weak links we align with more lovable space. Routinely giving yourself the rites of sincere self-exposure is a most sacred passage of time.

Revelations may be a ceremonial as you wish. I intentionally make time to get myself locked in in a soliloquy of silence every few months in the least. Such is a reprieve from the hustle of Los Angeles or New York city life, for example. These places are a beacon of social activity for me. I love my communities and thrive within them, but the compensation of ease isn’t always built into their bloodstreams. My compulsory alone time is tailored for reflection or harnessing work accomplishments. Currently, I’m writing some five-hundred miles from my Los Angeles base. Tucked into a heat wave, but replete with comfy indoor AC, voluminous vivid window vistas, a private pool and hot tub, I am saturated in nothing but time for two weeks. I intentionally accepted this house and chickens-sitting gig to fill my days with my own personal brain waves. All the melting and molding capacity of my strengths and weaknesses buzzes in the stillness when I’m channeling my own Free Solo space of mind.

We have a lot of tendencies to avert our utmost authenticity. The media cries for our skinniest self, so we might buy a bathing suit that covers that center bodily poof in lieu of flaunting a bikini. Except, the root could very well be emotions at stake. Maybe our heart is eating itself alive. Vulnerably, nutrition more than vanity energy is perhaps the culprit. Intensely, we can uncover that this has less to do with wanting to look like someone else who has a physique utterly different than our own and moreso targets the era we’d lost yet another battle of love that’s grounded us in singledom far too long. Celibacy has its beautiful use. The cases for enhanced happiness sans spouses or making more humans stands a rotating debate. As I creep closer to age fifty without either, I feel the need to read these perspectives to help gain footing on my own. Although, I still believe a world full of humans would not have been created if we weren’t meant to together.

Addiction and choices courses ought to be as requisite as math or English from kindergarten through college. We simply don’t get out of this living thing without some sorts of addictive nature, as well many of us marry or date it a few times. Battling our demons is a crucial crux of exposure in the revelations game. Food is my addiction. When I don’t get what I want in existence, I comfort myself through eating. Some mimic this with drinking or else. I want pleasure through connection and companionship. Without a healthy man, I fill myself with tasty cuisine. Last night’s height was a gluten-free brown rice pasta ensemble. It starts out sounding like a decent trade-off. Only, left to my own devices the apocalypses tumble. Long known among my family and friends as a “mixer” when it comes to consumption, I will open the cabinets, fridge, forage in the garden, and even douse with a tidbit of something from my handbag to complete a creative collection of edibles. By the time I’ve finished, it’s no longer simply pasta with a lightly braised au jus. Sweet and spicy. Tangy and tempting to the eyes plus palate tend to arouse a mad scientist in me. Exactly like the relationship aspects I’m craving, I’ve made a meal. I actually eat what I want in a man devouring life with me! Of course, these enormous combinations are not ideal nutritionally.

Planting seeds of forgiveness for oneself can feel a bit as if we’re hoping for that oasis in the drought-ridden desert. I haven’t let go of wondering why we choose suffering so much as humans. However, instead of lingering on topics where the answers are not so easy, I’ve focused upon the support inspirations that declare their sanctity when we give way to expressing our personal transparency. I know we’re all put here to learn. What and how much we learn are fused to why we care about learning at all, or not. The curves of knowledge arc from inside and outside of us. Attending to both, but primarily from where things begin within us is the clue. The commonly quipped phrase that nails it for me, which I try to keep lodged at the front of my brain for quick revelatory ritual rotation, is: if it costs you your peace it’s too expensive. May you function with worship of self steeped in harmony and purity. The deeper you’re willing to reveal yourself to yourself the wider the scope of sanity settling in.

Remember you can reset through the exquisite etiquette of revelation habits.

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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