Eavesdropping is a skill according to my mother who liked to point out the spies at various tables. I was impressed by her ability as she didn't understand any of the languages spoken in any of the countries to which my father was assigned. She had an explanation for this lack: "Portuguese is just Spanish with a French accent." Diplomacy is also a skill so I didn't point out to her that she didn't know any Spanish she could joi de vivre. Today, I misheard someone say, "She's a full time psycho." My immediate reaction was, "Whew. It's good she is full time! Gets all the benefits!" Reading tees is also a form of eavesdropping. A woman who had trekked to Tibet showed off what the trip was all about, "Yak Yak Yak."
What could be more satisfying than tuning in to someone's deep down heartfelt, what some call Soul? So in this post I am sharing the result of my Soul Restoration online art class journal. The premise of many quotes for restoring is that I should get back to the person I was. I find this amusing since the assumption is that my former person was hot stuff on a platter. My preference would be the phrase, "You are never to old to be the person you were meant to be." I am partial to Mary Engelbreit's painting called, "Late Bloomer." I think Late Bloomer is who I was meant to be. I enjoyed the videos accompanying the class, the journal prompts, and the air of festivity. I don't know if I'll continue with a Homework Time no longer required but it has changed the nature of my eavesdropping. Now when I hear a snippet I can't resist jotting down , I put it in my notebook with pressed flowers, glitter glue, stampings, and doodles. A quote must also be the quote it was meant to be.
Hearing Things
The hypnotherapist is in England.
He has no idea where I am
but he knows my procrastinations
as they are everybody's.
He is trying to motivate me
with his soothing North Country accent
by giving me images of myself
doing what I'd rather be doing
than facing this Other I
really, really, really
don't want to do.
As he distracts me with his suggestion
to sit in an imaginary chair,
(chintz? overstuffed? pockets for books?)
I wonder what could possibly be better
than this luxury.
But he has my archetype firmly in hand,
The Sulky Child,
and consequently bribes me--
if I will carry my chair in my mind all day,
momentousness with happen.
I hear you, Dr. Hypno.
I plump up the pillows of my pretend chair.
Oh, look! I've hidden some chocolate
between the silk ties!
and here I go
to my desk.
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