Relief from the Holiday Blues, a Technique for the holidays.
No more holiday struggle to keep brain and heart together. I am going to give you the key to stepping out of the blues the way you step out of a pair of dirty jeans and frizzy hair into a sparkling gown and radiant tumble of curls.
I just tonight had a grim pre-thanksgiving night of house cleaning. Not because I expected guests. No, I'd be alone for the holiday, and without money to buy a turkey. I didn't even feel I could waste a buck on house matches so if I needed to cook up some beans, I had to put a kleenex in the toaster to get flame! Sadly, I was running out of kleenex. Hadn't bought napkins in years, (a costly frivolity when one had cloth napkins). Remember that movie, 'SEARCH FOR FIRE?" that's what my house is like.
But there were other things the modern caveman couldn't go without. CLEAN DISHES. At some point, you had nothing left to eat off of. And the pile of dishes to your eyebrows in two sinks had noticeable signs of wild life peering out at you with antlers and stuff.
I stood before a pile of dishes, the kind that would take three separate washings, fill dish racks multiple times, where you wash, dry, put away, wash another grouping, put away, then yet a third. And I knew tonight I'd have to not only do those three loads but wash floors, several loads of laundry, scrub down the stove and muck, out the dining room floors around cat boxes. YIPES!
I started scrubbing. Usually when I got grim at being moneyless, I'd just reinforce for myself how lucky I was to have hot water, sink, dishes and food to dirty those dishes. That usually would make the jagged edges go into alignment.
Tonight, though, the radio was my companion and no falser friend. Every Christmas Carol lyric cut my heart like a razor blade. Rivers of sorrow pooled around the linoleum where I stood. "Oh so sweet to be home for Christmas," the songs gurgled and chortled.
No relative of mine had come home for Christmas in a decade. I've got a veritable dirty dish pile of dysfunctional relatives. (I know -- who doesn't?) I contemplated the evil father who'd disinherited me when I couldn't drive my tagless car 6 miles to his bachelor apartment to cook him dinner at his every whim; I thought of my cold, isolated mother who after a lifetime of polite extrication from anything familial, now had mastered the art of simply sitting through a family dinner without ever saying a single word. I realized that everything skipped a generation. My kids were colder. None of my four children had ever sent me a birthday or Xmas card. Half hadn't even phoned for years. None showed up for a holiday meal. Most had migrated to the opposite ends of the world.. What happened? I'd applied Christmas memories with a trowel when they were young, schlepped them off to holidays in Vegas, Acapulco, San Diego, Ensendada, waited stunned with boredom in public parks while they played. What had gone wrong?
I thought back to how the three older ones were so jealous of their baby brother that they'd vented sadism on him hourly. In his mid-twenties his apprehension and fears turned into paranoiac schizophrenia. I realized my bitterness toward the turn of events was so intense, I probably should not pursue novel writing. I'd just vent spleen, puff adder spit, nothing anyone needed to read. Me who admired A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN. If I had to write about their childhood would have to describe spitting snakes.
Oh well, it wasn't over yet. They were about to let the cured schizo out of the mental hospital, He was a kindly person, a real little Jesus. A true believer, a liberal leftist, holistic, religious even. He had enough good qualities for about ten people. Maybe I could resist my own ego, get off my career ambitions and just dedicate myself to his instruction, recreation, 'finish' the half baked cake and contribute him to humanity. Could I get off workaholicsm enough to do that? Or would I be as I'd been in his childhood? Parked behind a typewriter calling to him thru a locked door to leave me alone.
I didn't know the answer to that one, and the fact I didn't and slightly feared having a schizo in the house, burning logs where we had no fireplace, cooking up the only meat in the house at dawn, before I was awake, and feeding it to the cats, chewing thru garden remakes with a shovel, (where I had dormant bulbs and vines.....) and selling the family silver.....and a million other cute tricks of his --- well imagining that kind of return of the prodigal added to the heavy holiday mood.
I wiped away a tear of self pity, turned back to the sink of dishes piled high, gritted my teeth and said, 'GOD help me, I'm as blue as I ever get' and I went on washing dishes. I focused on suds and crud, thebrush, the kindly warm water feeling so glad to have hot water, sinks. Once I'd washed dishes for my fourkids, at a wind torn tent camp, in the mountains of New Mexico using sand and icewater. I shivered, thinking of all the women on this planet who used sand and ice water while wind howled around them and so so daily. I had a roof, heaters. Kindly landlord. Healthy cats, great astrology clients all over the world, young people who were going places now that they knew the POWER DAYS for themselves, and their true destiny. All of that is for free by the way at
THE ASTRAL PAGE.
Suddenly, I noted that the same cheery holiday songs had become a love song to me from a kind, appreciative, heavenly father. They'd been breaking my heart a few minutes before, now they were a personal message....
It was like a mysterious lightning bolt turned me around and I don't remember what it was exactly just an attitude of gratitude and pushing the inner fuss budget out of my head. Why should she take over when she just makes me unhappy? The other 'me' loves how it is! She's the one I want to hang out with.
People are the same way. They want to only be with upbeat friends, so try looking on the bright side. And fine tune the organic body with the MOOD IMPROVER kriya. It's a minute' touch up' on your mood.
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