tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69042006502350570782024-03-13T23:49:57.236-07:00Stacey J. WarnerConsciousness CoachStacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.comBlogger210125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-78150554322446652962021-05-05T06:41:00.002-07:002021-05-05T12:41:10.260-07:00The Gift of Humility<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHwa20a7ys5KTqGPmOLXdc8lVmUh4jNdztQkZdCTGm0s3fTOD3Tc0y328WvZfFU2GXzntA01P-YGELgI1ANG7IsqUhxSUhgCYLPf600MYIeZrfF2GRgv_RAv27vflJeM_M-Em7wi24J9o/s2048/496DBFE3-656A-4AEB-AD3A-25497EF85896.heic" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHwa20a7ys5KTqGPmOLXdc8lVmUh4jNdztQkZdCTGm0s3fTOD3Tc0y328WvZfFU2GXzntA01P-YGELgI1ANG7IsqUhxSUhgCYLPf600MYIeZrfF2GRgv_RAv27vflJeM_M-Em7wi24J9o/s320/496DBFE3-656A-4AEB-AD3A-25497EF85896.heic" /></a></div>The best place to start is 2016 when I created a weekend workshop called <i>The Intensive, For Radical Healing</i>. The Intensive dives into the subconscious patterns that keep us stuck and repeating the same life lessons. Without consciousness life is on repeat without any up-leveling. Boring right? Imagine a video game like this? No one would buy it or play it. The Intensive introduces us to the game of life and how to actively be the hero or heroine of it. <p></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In the first few months of 2017 I probably guided over 30 people through The Intensive doing it just about every other weekend. At the time, I knew on an intellectual level that each time I lead The Intensive I was getting my own “dose” of the work but didn’t realize that diving so deep into one’s shadow, one would inevitably create one’s most feared monster in the outside world. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">For those of you who’ve been with me for a few years, you know that my stuff shows up around relationship and career (but I was able to mask my business stuff in false serenity.) Relationship was where there was nowhere to hide. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So it’s not surprising my monster/dragon came in the form of a man. A man who “loved” me and made many promises bolstered by spreadsheets. I love a good spreadsheet. Apparently, it’s the way to my heart. Luckily (ha), I was so stuck at the time, I allowed myself to be swooped away. I mean quite literally swooped away -within 6 weeks of meeting him, feeling guided by Spirit, I moved to Northern CA. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I’ve come to realize that when I’m not moving in the direction Spirit would like me too, I get some divine intervention to help me out. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This was the case with this move and this man. I could write a whole book about this, in fact I’m going to but for now let’s just say he was deeply wounded and suffered from psychopathy, sex addiction, drug addiction and alcoholism. I loved him, I really did but love is not always enough. With the help of friends who reminded me of who I am because if you’ve ever been with a psychopath, it’s super easy to forget who you are, I got out!</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">That’s exactly how it felt! GETTING OUT! Or better yet, I had played the level, earned the loot, (in this case it was self worth), and beat the boss! I had up-leveled. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">If I had written this at that time it would have been the climax of the story but now it feels like a bleep on the radar because once you decide to get out, the real healing begins. When you first get out all you see is freedom, you can’t ever imagine you will miss and still be in love with who you are escaping from.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This was my lesson in unconditional love. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">At the end of the relationship, December 2018 Cole and I moved to Kentucky. Why Kentucky? It was intuitive. I wanted to explore the south. I had experienced the West Coast, the Southwest, Northwest, the Northeast but the South seemed romantic and I was ready for the chill vibe and humidity. Luckily as soon as Cole and I arrived it felt like home. Louisville feels a bit like Seattle in the 90’s. It has a lot of grit and romance. Thank God I didn’t question my move because for the next year and a half, I’d be questioning everything else.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The beauty and slower pace (I knew no one in Kentucky) created a lot of room to viscerally experience the humility of what I had gotten myself into with this man and to be fully humbled by the lesson. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Spirit bought a huge gift during the break-up to empower my decision. I was hired by another coach, doing sales for her 4 million dollar business. Fortunately, I didn’t have to “build my business” while feeling like a LOSER! I could sit in my own healing doing puzzles while watching Sex In The City, drinking bourbon, and watching the snow. I also adopted a puppy three weeks after arriving in Louisville. (Healing comes in mysterious ways.) </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The first year was a challenge to put it lightly. I won’t go into all the nitty gritty but I was lost and depressed. I didn’t know who I was. I had written a book the year before, a life long dream and didn’t even care. I had no idea what I wanted to do next. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I felt like I had achieved everything, somewhat failed at it all, and was done. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I’m no stranger to the concept of ego death but when you actually experience it, it’s not pretty. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p></blockquote><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I went back to basics. Even though I’d been a yoga teacher for 20 years with my focus on Iyengar, I took a power yoga class. My head was stuck in the past but at least my body was doing something in the present. I knew I just needed to keep doing it and eventually I’d stop being tortured by the man I’d left. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I also took horseback riding lessons, which really surprised me. I hadn’t taken horseback riding lessons since I was a kid but Debbie at Twin Oaks Farm was kind and it was the first time I hadn’t cried during a lesson. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The most extreme thing I did was go to Unity Church. I grew up in church, was leader of my youth group but when I renounced my religion at 18, I never turned back so going to church was not easy but I felt a pull. Glad I did because this is where I was introduced to Paul Selig. I immediately bought and read all his books. They inspired me to focus more deeply on learning how to braid my personality-self with my higher-self. The many Intensives I had previously lead really set me up for learning how to truly surrender to my higher self, release fear, and trust. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"> </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">For the next year I’d drop the reins and let my higher self guide me, then I’d get in fear and snatch them back, then drop then again. It went back and forth until for the most part I just let the reins go completely, understanding fear, and following the energetic hits of information I received. It felt better than gripping, pushing, pulling, and forcing. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I stayed at my job even though it felt like the Titanic was sinking. Intuitively I knew it would come to an end and I even knew the date but I also knew my “job” was to stay with the company until that date came. I was dedicated to the team and it felt good to be a part of something during Covid. I became Chief Revenue Officer. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Through the 2nd year with many lessons brought on by Covid, I truly learned to jump into the passenger seat and allow my higher self to drive the car. Finally, I learned to be along for the ride and only do what I need to do when I need to do it. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This is what Joseph Campbell refers to as “following your bliss.” </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Who knew getting to bliss would take so much effort? </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Once I arrived in bliss, the world actually did become a magical place full of unexpected gifts. Once I fully experienced this, I asked to stop learning lessons through hardship and pain. I never thought I could learn without hardship and pain but now I know I can. Once you completely let go, there is no hardship and pain because you’ve completely let go. The personality self creates the suffering. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So what came when I learned to surrender and trust in my divinity? I met the love of my life, partnered with an incredible horse, stayed tuned into my intuition, bought a house (divinely guided), was laid-off my job while closing on my house, and started my business of Horse Powered Leadership. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Which brings me here. I know it’s been a long time but I am so happy to be back. I’m so excited to be able to offer my services to more people and to continue to help make people’s live’s better. I am no doing The Intensive by Zoom one-on-one. I’ve already done it 5 times this year, which feels so good. It is the ultimate in breaking free even if you’ve had an awakening. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Looking back, I was incredibly stuck in LA. Spirit knew I needed a nudge and gave me one. It didn’t turn out the way my personality self wanted it too but it turned out a whole lot better once I let go. Not only did I get unstuck but I grew through the humility to become a better teacher. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">What a gift. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Thanks for being part of my journey. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p>Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-60201879584349103802017-03-21T14:49:00.000-07:002017-03-21T22:55:58.510-07:00Back to Om...<div style="font-family: helvetica; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">I sink my sit bones into the two folded blankets, allowing my spine to reach towards the sky, my shoulders to drop, my chest to lift, I press my inner palms together in Anjali Mudra. We chant our first Om. I am no longer in yoga class. I’m transported back fifteen years earlier with Cole in my belly, warm and safe and I am chanting Om as I did everyday, several times a day while I was pregnant. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm about 7 months pregnant. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Moments earlier, I had been afraid to even step back into the yoga studio. I’d parked my car, forgot my mat, thought I didn’t want my purse but then decided I did, walked back to my car, got my purse, walked up to the yoga studio and as I took my shoes off, placing them on the shelves as I had done a thousand times before my heart raced faster. <i>Where will I put my purse? Which room is the class going to be in? Will I know anyone? Will I remember anything? Will I be judged? </i>I climbed the long staircase, listening to the familiar creaks under my bare feet, I took a deep breath embracing the smell of sweat, tea, and wood. I was almost there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I got to the front desk, the scariest place of all because this is where everyone knows everyone and hangs out. This is the whose who of the yoga studio. I use to stand and chat with Christine and Gary who ran Center for Yoga all those years ago. They would go on to start Liberation Yoga on LaBrea when Yogaworks bought Center for Yoga. Now, behind the desk, a stranger, a blondish, disheveled thirty something with a kind face. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I whispered my name and the class I was going to, “Stacey Warner, Iyengar.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The young woman came alive, “Oh, you’re doing our two week trial,” she booms, “Welcome. Your class is up those stairs. There’s a bathroom on this floor and another one near your class. Let me know if you have any questions. Enjoy your class.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“Thank you,” I said, wanting to get out of there knowing I’d cleaned those bathrooms every Saturday morning at 6am for over a year in exchange for classes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">15 years earlier yoga was my life, I received my teacher training at Center for Yoga in Larchmont, now Yogaworks, I went on to do further teacher training with Aadil Palkhivala in the Northwest, and several weekend workshops with Manouso Manos. This yoga studio had been my home. Back then not only was I committed to my yoga practice but I was a successful yoga teacher. I taught about ten private classes a week on top of my full time job. I was non-stop up until I gave birth. The morning I went into labor, I had taught a private client. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Back in class, we finish the Invocation to Pantajali and the teacher asks us to move into our first pose, Balasana or child’s pose. <i>This I can do</i>, I think to myself. Big toes together, knees apart, sit bones reaching towards the heels, arms stretched out, skin of the forehead reaching towards the nose. It feels like heaven but then my mind starts to go. <i>Why has it taken you 15 years to get back into class? What have you been doing? Why did you give up your business? </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I stop my mind right there and set it straight, <i>I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing. I had a baby!!! I took care of that baby and chose not to be completely stressed out so I stayed at my full time studio job with healthcare and paid vacation so I could provide stability and there was no time or energy left to teach yoga. I tried! I’ve been raising Cole on my own for the past fourteen years, making sure he gets what he needs. We moved a bit, trying to get him out of the city, I got laid-off and had to find my way, I shot the beginning of a documentary, wrote an award winning screenplay, got engaged for a millisecond, suffered a ton of loss, started my own business after leaving a secure position and so on…SO THERE!!!! GET BACK TO CLASS AND BREATHE!!!!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Wow, that pose turned out to be harder than I thought it was going to be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Luckily, the teacher asks us to move into Adho Mukha Svanasana, downward facing dog. There’s enough physical work in this pose to keep my mind busy. I spread my fingers wide and press down between the thumb and index finger, I roll my shoulders back and wide, pressing through the back of the thigh, my heels touch the ground and I find that amazing peace I had forgotten about. As I work my way through the class, every pose is a gift from heaven. For an hour and a half, I’m not in charge. I’m told what to do and I do it connecting mind, body, spirit, and it is so fun and I am so thankful for the practice and that I didn’t listen to my ego that was in fear about coming to class. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">In June of 2002, I was planning to move to Bali in February of 2003 to teach yoga and write. Then one weekend during a Manouso Manos workshop I felt the need to get grounded, that all the meditation and yoga I’d been doing had me floating, so I decided to take an ex-boyfriend to dinner, we hooked up, and I got pregnant. I knew the moment Cole came into being. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Instead of moving to Bali, I had a baby and was officially grounded to the most amazing inward and outward journey. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">It’s now been two weeks since I took that first yoga class. I go to class four or five times a week and have pretty much picked up where I left off 15 years ago. My upper back needs to loosen up a bit and I need to get a tad stronger but other than that, it could have been two weeks instead of 15 years. Except for one huge difference. I am happier, more open, more loving, and there is less ego. There is something so beautiful about being older and wiser. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Today, in the car, I told Cole I would be late to a meeting for his after school activity because I have a yoga class. It felt a little selfish but the meetings usually start late and drag on I bit so I figured it would be fine. Plus, I’ve grown to relish my me time. I asked him what he thought about it, probably in hopes of easing my guilt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“I’m so use to coming first in your life, I suppose it has to change at some point. It’s ok. I’ll get us to it,” he said with love and compassion. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Having compassion for one’s self is the first step to being brave. It’s acknowledging and honoring the fear, letting it be and then going for it anyway. Having compassion for other people’s fears gives them strength to find their own courage. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Namaste! </span></div>
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I am a Consciousness Coach, if you are interested in learning more about me click <a href="http://www.staceyjwarner.com/" target="_blank">here.</a> You can contact me here <a href="mailto:stacey@staceyjwarner.com" target="_blank">stacey@staceyjwarner.com</a></div>
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Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-60428593567130795512017-03-01T20:03:00.000-08:002017-03-21T22:57:30.463-07:00PTSD and a broken heart...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">On September 13, 2016, I posted pictures of a horse named Poncho on Facebook. They were pictures of abrasions he had received earlier that morning from a fall he’d taken on a ride we were on. In the post I mentioned I’d tell the rest of the story but never did. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I also haven’t shared what lead to me re-homing Sadie, my horse. The stories are tied together and everything happened so quickly but also in slow motion that there was no time to tell tales about it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">A few days before the 13th, I started a doing cleanse. I also started doing research for what would become <a href="http://www.staceyjwarner.com/theintensive" target="_blank">The Intensive</a>, which was all about the subconscious. I was riding Sadie six days a week most weeks taking her high up in the hills for a few hours. We rode mostly by ourselves. Our rides were without incident for the most part. She was three, which is a young horse. She’d been under saddle four months when I took over the reins. She had a good mind and was trained with an even hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’d been thinking about how I wasn’t having as much fun as I thought I’d have owning a horse. I had moved Sadie to a small private barn, which I thought would be better for her and me because I’d be able to do the Equine work and see clients in a beautiful and private setting. She’d get longer turn outs and an in-and-out stall with horse neighbors on either side that she could connect with. What I didn’t take into account was that there would be fewer people to ride with and that I’d end up riding a lot by myself. There was also the property owner that turned out to be controlling. He liked things in a very specific way and had become unapproachable when I had concerns, berating me when I asked questions about the behavior of young horses. One of his diatribes lasted over an hour with another border joining in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">On September 13, 2016, I planned on taking Sadie up to Amir’s Garden in Griffith Park. It was one of my favorite rides. We were riding out towards the hills when I heard a horse behind us calling out. Before too long that horse, Poncho and his rider were next to us. The rider, Worms, was a jovial guy, super nice, and goofy with crazy white long hair going in every direction under his baseball cap. They were heading in the same direction so we decided to ride together. Our conversation didn’t stop and I realized that I was finally having fun. I was thankful. We decided to go for an even longer ride up a trail I hadn’t been on before. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Worms liked to lope his horse in certain spots. He asked if I was all right with that and I said yes. Horses are quick to form mini herds so when one horse takes off the other tends to want to go especially if the relationship with the horse and its rider isn’t solid. Sadie wanted to go and I was fine with it. We did our first two lopes together. It was awesome and I thought, wow, finally. <i>This is a blast. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We were almost to the top of the mountain, way out in the hills when Worms asked me if I wanted to lope again. I said, “Sure.” Worms and Poncho started and Sadie and I were quick to follow. Five steps in, Poncho suddenly tripped and summersaulted over his right shoulder on to his face with Worms slamming down on his right side and scurrying out from underneath Poncho just in time not to be crushed. Sadie and I halted. Poncho got up with a bloody face, knees, and chest. He stood stunned for a minute and then slow trotted down the hill a bit before stopping. Worms got up with a bloody elbow but otherwise miraculously ok. When he went down to get Poncho, Poncho was so spooked he almost backed off the trail. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Sadie and I were both shaken but ok. We decided it was best for me to stay on Sadie and for Worms to walk Poncho since we didn’t know the extent of his injuries. We all stayed together for another two hours and then once Sadie and I knew where we were we continued on our way with Worms blessing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I didn’t know what to make of what just happened. We were in the middle of nowhere. Riding in Griffith Park there are so many elements that are spooky for horses but there was nothing, just us loping up a hill. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The next time Sadie and I went for a ride, she wouldn’t go up into the hills and acted up. I wasn’t sure if it was me, the subconscious at work, the cleanse, was she not feeling good? I had no idea. What I did know is I felt helpless, raw, vulnerable, humbled, not good enough, and that’s when I ran into my trainer. He said he’d put some rides on her, set her right and then all would be well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Knowing he was riding her, took me off the hook. When I no longer needed to think about riding I found such relief. I soon realized how riddled with anxiety I had become. I had been waking up everyday in a panic. I had been eating emotionally before I started doing the cleanse. I was constantly irritated and having angry outbursts while driving and sometimes with Cole, my son. I was easily startled and jumpy. I was constantly on guard. I felt emotionally cut off from others. I’d have flashbacks to riding Sadie when things went wrong or when something spooky came at us, which happened all the time. These are all symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder, PTSD. Over the months of riding Sadie I had developed PTSD. PTSD is a sly little fox. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I still did not realize how bad it had become until three weeks later when I got the call that she was ready for me to ride again. I groomed and saddled her like I had a hundred times before but something felt different. I was supposed to meet my trainer out on the perimeter. I went around once but I felt the fear. Everything terrified me and I could not calm myself down. I couldn’t get my physiology to calm down. Horses are so sensitive, I knew I felt awful to Sadie and this wasn’t fair to her. It’s the worse thing you can do to a young horse. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When I couldn’t get her to go past the bridge that would take us home, I gave up. I had no one there to help me through it, I felt alone and scared. I knew I couldn’t do it. I headed back to the barn and started to untack her knowing that every time I gave into her I was teaching her not to respect me. So many lessons. My trainer texted me, <i>where are you? </i> I told him, <i>I went around the perimeter and you weren’t there. I couldn’t get her to continue so I came in.</i> He told me to meet him in Eater Field behind the barn. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">He watched us ride in a circle and he too could feel something was off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“I don’t know what you have going on, maybe something in your life, are you anxious,” he asked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“I’m afraid,” I broke down. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“Maybe you need an older horse because something isn't right. You guys are not a good fit.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Heartbroken, I melted down to the ground and sobbed as Sadie nudged my head. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">By then I had already been in contact with Crystal, a woman on Facebook who had been looking for a horse exactly like Sadie. She was very interested but a week before I had told her I wasn’t going to sell Sadie. I asked my trainer if I should contact her. He said, “yes.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">With shaky hands and blurry vision through tears, I messaged her and asked her if she was still interested. <i>YES!, </i>was her immediate response. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Deep breaths and it was done. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The next day, I was in a session with a client when I heard my trainer’s spurs rattling up the walkway. He apologized for interrupting and said he’d come back. I said, “No, tell me.” He never just stopped by so I knew it was something important. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“If it works out in Oregon than do it but if it doesn’t than just go back and take it real slow with her.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Take it real slow with her. Wasn’t that always my problem? Rushing relationship? I almost wanted to believe that if I couldn’t make it work with this horse than the future of my romantic relationships would then be doomed. I didn’t accept the thought. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">But what I have come to realize is that what I had done with Sadie, in such a short amount of time is not common. It was the blind leading the blind. Most people never leave the safety of an arena. I had rushed in our relationship like there was a destination instead of allowing a gentle unfolding of trust. There’s no destination in a relationship. A relationship is a forever unfolding. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Sadie left Saturday, November 5, 2016.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When I posted that I had re-homed my horse people in the horse community reached out and offered up their horses for me to use for my work and through this I met a man who does the same work as me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">He offered to take me for a ride and about month after saying good-bye to my Sadie girl I was back in the saddle on a gem of a horse, Studley. He was so solid I didn’t have to think about anything but riding and having fun. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I now ride about twice a week with the guidance of a seasoned rider and we have fun. I’ve become such a better rider, he has taught me so much and I have healed my PTSD. I help him out with his groups working with teenagers in recovery and I am completely humbled to just be where I am. I have no idea where I’m going but it doesn’t matter because life is a forever unfolding without a destination. </span></div>
Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-69735587109897989352016-09-01T11:18:00.000-07:002017-03-21T22:57:06.661-07:00Feeling Energetically Stretched and Pulled like Silly Putty? <div style="font-family: helvetica; line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIFPWJaCTDwx6u57JQdv3xNppCeLMwO2BRIPa0QxAEflIQ4fDxc-4LsU9FCBmQ5Z5I0vzPpgnT2KchCcPCRyruWaQ63T1_udkg1Vx6qZ9FgVRU6XZjUpNmiDi58__5PkcuE_d0yR1THw/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: 11px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIFPWJaCTDwx6u57JQdv3xNppCeLMwO2BRIPa0QxAEflIQ4fDxc-4LsU9FCBmQ5Z5I0vzPpgnT2KchCcPCRyruWaQ63T1_udkg1Vx6qZ9FgVRU6XZjUpNmiDi58__5PkcuE_d0yR1THw/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="400" /></a>This summer its felt like my energy has been transferred on to Silly Putty and pushed, stretched, rolled in a ball, flattened, and reshaped. Then it stops and I think, <i>ah, what a relief it’s done,</i> but then it starts again, stretch, pull, flatten, etc. It’s exhausting. </div>
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There are times when I think, <i>maybe I’m depressed. </i>Although, it doesn’t feel like depression and that’s trying to fit a new experience into an old paradigm. </div>
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I’m not alone. I see over twenty clients a week and all of them are having a sort of ‘Silly Putty’ experience. For some it’s big outward upheaval; moving, relationships ending, jobs ending, narcissistic bullying, the crazies in their lives getting crazier, unexplainable illnesses, secrets being revealed, etc. For others it looks like their lives are just rolling along and yet, the inner upset is equally real. </div>
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What is it? </div>
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I’ve meditated on it. Asked Spirit to provide me with answers and this is what I got.</div>
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<i>If we travel below the layer of ego everything is unknown. Fortunately or unfortunately our egos are our anchors of ‘safety.’ Its time to let go of the false anchor. </i></div>
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<i>With wild abandonment step into the unknown, whether its within the chambers of your heart or actual new destinations/experiences in the outer world. </i></div>
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<i>The days of the gold watches, retirement plans, white picket fences, are in the rearview mirror. </i></div>
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<i>Things are currently shifting so quickly that even if we believe we know where we are going, it can shift like a flip of a switch with new information, loss or gain. </i></div>
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<i>Everything that is happening on the outside is to point us back inward. If one refuses to look in and unravel the lesson to heal, to become closer to Self then BAM! The lesson is going to come again bigger and stronger. </i></div>
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<i>The consciousness of earth is up leveling. </i></div>
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<i>Denial will not be accepted in the new world. A light will be shown brightly on it. In personal matters and in worldly matters. </i></div>
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Great, so we have some interesting information but how can we as humans having a spiritual experience, often forgetting we are Spiritual beings having a human experience because our fears surrounding survival (the body), scare the poop out of us, find calm in the new norm? </div>
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<span style="font-family: helvetica;">Surrender within seven deep breaths and accept it. Accept it all, even with it’s unseemly ugliness, the pulling, the stretching, and perhaps, just maybe, in some alternate universe you might just be a comic character picked up on some Silly Putty being stretched until you are goofy. LOL! </span>Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-39327673104044240802016-08-26T11:07:00.000-07:002017-03-21T22:58:00.096-07:00Communication, why is it so hard...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Communication is EVERYTHING. Just as I sat down to write this article, I received a text from a client asking me how she should respond to a text from her friend. I asked my client a question, which lead her to the real issue and then she was on her way. I often spend a large portion of my week helping clients write and rewrite professional and private emails and texts because when emotions are involved, it's hard to see the forest through the trees. With a little bit of guidance, they form a deeper connection to Self and then are able to respond from a heart centered place that contains boundaries rather than their fearful egos.</div>
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It is magic and I love it.</div>
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Why is communication so difficult?</div>
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At the start of each horse assisted session, I give my clients time to spend with the horse to do whatever they want. They usually pet the horse to create a connection. After several minutes of the client petting the horse, I ask, "How's it going?”</div>
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"Great. I think the horse really likes me," they often respond.</div>
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"Yes, it's going well because you haven't asked anything of the horse, there's been no real communication. Relationship doesn't start until you ask the horse to do something. Then the horse will reveal itself.”</div>
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"Oh but I don't want to ask anything of the horse. I don't want to upset it," they often respond.</div>
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"Then you will never create a true honest connection with this horse.”</div>
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Horses are the best for learning the delicate art of communication because they are in the moment, giving direct feedback to how you are asking. They give you an opportunity to finesse your energy around the ask. Did the horse startle? Then you might have asked with too much fear based energy based on feeling ‘not being good enough,’ which made the horse want to move away from you. It's such a subtle and beautiful thing.</div>
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Asking for want you want can be done with a smile and grace.</div>
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Everyday I go out with Sadie, my horse, I'm given a lesson in this very thing. My education never ends and our relationship grows deeper and richer. I can see how every step I could destroy her confidence just by my thoughts about the relationship, our communication or her.</div>
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It is only when you are able to communicate your needs and wants that relationship begins. Relationship can only grow and become more intimate based on the value of the communication. When you express your needs from a Self aware place, how the person responds is just information but unfortunately, our egos give it so much meaning to our self worth and our value.</div>
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Communication is difficult because of FEAR.</div>
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I work with mostly wounded empaths (like me) so it's a lot of healing from being surrounded by narcissus who can't take in someone else's desire if it doesn't align with their own or their agenda.</div>
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There is no self-help book, weekend seminar, pod-cast, or magic pill that can guide you across your own deeply personal and intimate thresholds of fear. It takes your bravery and someone you trust to guide you and love you in all the messy glory of life.</div>
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Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-89707549331491779982016-05-15T13:31:00.002-07:002016-05-15T13:31:52.251-07:00The Spiritual Narcissist<h2 align="left" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin-top: 0px;">
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I’ve been putting off writing about narcissism for months now. Having navigated the world of narcissism my entire life due to the nature of my family, it’s taken me 45 years to shake the feeling that narcissism is home or how love feels. As sad as this is, I’m grateful that now I feel in every cell of my body the presence of a narcissist. It no longer feels like home.</div>
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It feels like my heart closing, an energetic shield going up, and the need to be fully present in order to protect myself from damage or harm. I immediately become hyper aware, the ease and grace I usually live with is put on hold as I navigate the predator at hand and my fight or flight response. The truth is, we are all unknowingly responding this way. Another word for this invisible, internal, survival mechanism is anxiety.</div>
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According to Karla McClaren, the author of <em>The Language of Emotions, </em>anxiety is caused by being around incongruent people. A narcissist is nothing if not incongruent. Their main subconscious focus is to maintain their image at all costs.</div>
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So what is the clinical description of narcissistic personality disorder? According to Google Health:</div>
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<strong>Overview</strong></div>
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Narcissistic personality disorder is a condition in which there is an inflated sense of self-importance and an extreme preoccupation with one's self.</div>
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<strong>Symptoms</strong></div>
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A person with narcissistic personality disorder:</div>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Reacts to criticism with rage, shame, or humiliation </li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Takes advantage of other people to achieve his or her own goals </li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Has feelings of self-importance </li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Exaggerates achievements and talents </li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Is preoccupied with fantasies of success, power, beauty, intelligence, or ideal love </li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Has unreasonable expectations of favorable treatment </li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Requires constant attention and admiration </li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Disregards the feelings of others, lacks empathy </li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Has obsessive self-interest </li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Pursues mainly selfish goals</li>
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<strong>Treatment</strong></div>
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Psychotherapy may help the affected person relate to others in a more positive and compassionate manner.</div>
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<strong>Causes</strong></div>
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The cause of this disorder is unknown. Narcissistic personality disorder usually begins by early adulthood.</div>
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<strong>Tests & diagnosis</strong></div>
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Personality disorders are diagnosed based on a psychological evaluation and the history and severity of the symptoms.</div>
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<strong>Prognosis</strong></div>
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The outcome varies with the severity of the disorder.</div>
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<strong>Complications</strong></div>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Relationship and family problems</li>
<li style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Alcohol or other drug dependence</li>
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We live in a world of narcissists and therefore a world of anxiety but instead of building a bridge back to a more conscious connection to self and crossing it, we drink, shop, live in denial, have affairs, watch television, take prescription drugs, isolate or become content with the malaise or unease we’ve come to know as life.</div>
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So what is a spiritual narcissist? According to author Jorge Ferrer, “Spiritual narcissism believes that one deserves love and respect or is better than another because one has accumulated spiritual training instead of the belief that accumulating training will bring an end to suffering.”</div>
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I take what I do very seriously and am always on the look out for my own narcissistic tendencies. I have learned that my calling often attracts spiritual narcissists. It’s been eye opening going to different workshops to realize the facilitator is a narcissist. I watched one coach, tell a client (without getting to the core of her problem), “If you weren’t already signed up for my program, I’d know how to get you there.” Yikes! He was such a narcissist that he had no idea he’d just told a room of people that he’s a master manipulator. The worse part is the client and most of the room didn’t realize he was either. Why? Narcissism feels like home and a lot of those in the room (I’d soon discover) were narcissists. Like attracts like.</div>
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The trickiest part of getting healthy and away from narcissists is knowing when you are in the presence of one. Getting to the point where it no longer feels like home. A simple rule is this, whenever you feel unease or anxiety after being around someone or in conversation with them, most likely they have some narcissistic tendencies if not a full blown narcissist.</div>
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I’ve spent the past year learning to navigate clients that are narcissists, most go away because we are not a fit. I won’t uphold, take a stand for, or “give permission” to their egomaniacal wants and their egos don’t like it so they run. At first I was so triggered by them, I quietly fell apart inside and didn’t know what to do. Now that I’ve practiced standing still, staying present, and not becoming my six year old self, I am learning how to work with narcissists but for a recovering co-dependent empath this was no easy task but definitely part of my journey.</div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I truly believe if anyone comes to me there is a reason and with my new found strength and know how, I might be able to help. It’s a different language, a different way of working through the thick veneer of protection but I truly believe all things are possible. Through my own healing, I no longer feel the need to fight or flee. I can hold a space of divine love and begin the process of integrating the psychology, spirituality, and body, if they are willing.</span></div>
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For more information about me and the work I do, got to <a href="http://www.staceyjwarner.com/">www.staceyjwarner.com</a> </div>
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Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-49462921075298470732014-12-18T14:58:00.004-08:002017-03-21T22:56:44.295-07:00A New Awareness...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ll never forget holding Cole, just less than a month old and hearing we were going to war. It was March 20, 2003. My dad and step mom were visiting, watching the news when we heard. I got up and walked out of the room but said nothing. My dad, a Vietnam vet, and I had very different views about religion and politics. It was always best to keep quiet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought the “war” would be short lived and would have little affect on me. Looking back I see how selfish this was but at the time I was in my early 30’s, in a theater/film crowd, and had just had a baby. I figured in eighteen years when Cole was old enough to join the military, it would be sorted out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I became a Certified Equus Coach in 2013, one of my dreams was to work with returning soldiers suffering from PTSD. <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I’m not sure why.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I had yet to meet someone who had returned from Iraq or Afghanistan but sometimes the “why” of our dreams doesn’t make sense until it does. In December of 2013 my dream came true with Save A Warrior.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I got to see first hand the affects of trauma, some of it childhood trauma compounded by war.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Soon several more clients arrived on my door step suffering from some sort of trauma. I realized I was being given a sign and needed a better understanding so started to research and discovered Peter Levine’s <i>Waking The Tiger, Healing Trauma,’ </i>an incredible book that should be a must read for every human. As I started to get an understanding of what someone experiences who suffers after a trauma and discovering my own trauma, I also realized that my intuitive abilities come through my “felt sense” all that energy that is constantly moving just below the surface. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is what I feel when I’m working with a client. I feel their “felt sense” energy in my body and it gives me information. It builds a picture in my mind of the person’s life and I feel their trauma as well. But I also realized something else. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Standing in front of my first Save a Warrior Cohort back in March, I felt completely at home with this amazing group of men. I understood their humor, toughness, kindness, and how something about them was just out of reach. For the first time, I completely understood that I was raised by a father (and probably a mother) who suffered from undiagnosed PTSD. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then it dawned on me. The “why” of my dream to work with returning soldiers is to heal my own childhood wounds of being raised by a father who was always just out of reach even though he was right next to me. </span></div>
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Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-538866066310286302014-11-16T17:15:00.002-08:002014-11-16T17:26:45.873-08:00Fear or Love, Survive or Thrive...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fear or Love, Survive or Thrive… </span></span><br />
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<i>I sat down to write this post not sure what it was going to be about. I knew fear was the theme but how would I couple it, with love or vulnerability? Then I read the below Facebook post by my dear friend and Spiritual Advisor of nine years, Marla Frees and found my answer. She wrote out the thoughts I’d been thinking so beautifully, why create more work for myself and not just share her beautiful writing and wisdom? Enjoy!</i> </div>
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Life when really lived...changes.</div>
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If you are living your life invested in love you are growing, learning, moving, morphing...the essence of transforming. </div>
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If you are living your life out of fear, you are in a loop of reaction, retaliation, denial and suffering.</div>
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We all are faced with illness sometime in our life. </div>
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We lose the ones we love.</div>
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Our lives do not go the way we want. </div>
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What can we do to make sure we survive the upsets and losses?</div>
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Face it all, like it is the very best gift that the Universe has given you. </div>
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The expectations we have are silly ways our egos need to make us feel better but those expectations very well may not be the best FOR us.</div>
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There is gold in the deepest of pain. There is light in the loss of love.</div>
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We must cry and grieve, dig in and fight the greatest of fights and rest in the arms of our creator. </div>
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May we be brave enough to accept that today we have the opportunity to live, love and find joy.</div>
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May we not just survive...but THRIVE.</div>
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<i>You can find Marla at </i><span style="color: #37404e;"><i><a href="http://www.marlafrees.com/">www.marlafrees.com</a></i></span><br />
<i>If you are interested in working with Stacey J. Warner and the herd in Malibu go to <a href="http://www.staceyjwarner.com/">www.staceyjwarner.com</a> </i></div>
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Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-57218272882350926172014-09-23T11:10:00.000-07:002014-11-16T20:42:57.899-08:00Wu Wei in Action, Non-Action<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wu Wei in Action, Non-Action</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Back in September I was facilitating an equine assisted workshop in Pennsylvania. I thought for the final exercise it would be fun to gather the group together and have them do a “Herding” exercise. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Their job was to have a horse join their “herd.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The four women entered the arena with one horse. They had a couple minutes to discuss how they were going to get the horse to “join up” then there would be no verbal communication for the rest of the exercise. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They decided to bring their energy down and walk towards the</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> horse.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The horse completely ignored them and looked off to his distant herd.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One woman in the group had done the exercise before and decided to take the lead offering to act like a horse to get the horse curious but to no avail. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After about ten minutes, I gathered them over and asked how it was going. They were frustrated, one woman wanted to quit but her friend talked her into staying. After a short discussion they were at it again. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>Letting go brings success…</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I watched, there was a moment where I could see they collectively went limp or as I prefer to say, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">surrendered</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> and stopped trying to make something happen. It was then the horse got curious and followed them through the obstacles.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was a brilliant way to end the weekend. Absolute magic. Surrender to what is, stop over thinking and appreciate with loving kindness everything around you. </span></div>
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-Stacey </div>
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<a href="http://www.staceyjwarner.com/" target="_blank">www.staceyjwarner.com </a></div>
Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-7023339850090146422013-04-04T16:19:00.000-07:002013-04-04T16:19:06.414-07:00Finding My True Feminine...<br />
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Early in my life I decided to become the son my father never had in rebellion to my mother’s relationship with my sister, which was very close and impenetrable. My sister, two-and-a-half-years older than me, called me Steve. I wore my hair short. <br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I always thought of myself as a fat ugly tomboy. I made the choice early on that I would never “get” a man with my looks so I would become strong, wicked smart and a great companion. Later, I realized companionship and smarts were not how to “get” a man so I became fearless in bed. Thinking that if a man had sex with me, he’d love me. (Yes, I drank that Kool-aid.) </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As I matured I started to watch other women who seemed to be in stable relationships with men who adored them to see if I could understand the key to their magic. How did they do it? What was the secret ingredient? I wanted to be like those women, self assured, strong, graceful, empowered, and yet FEMININE. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But I continued to approach relationship with masculine energy believing that “waiting” for the phone call was game play and waiting to have sex was for fools. That I would meet the right guy that would love me for who I am. This is how I did things up until two weeks ago. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When my last dating experience fell apart with a man I truly liked, cared about and was excited to get to know something had to shift. It was then a dear friend and colleague suggested, “Getting To ‘I Do’, The Secret to Doing Relationships Right!” by Dr. Patricia Allen and Sandra Harmon. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Reading her book was like receiving the keys to the feminine kingdom. Everything fell into place. I realized how confused I’d been about feminine energy vs. masculine energy. I am all feminine when it comes to dating, something I’d been fighting my entire life. When I have sex with a man I am 100% bonded to him, partly because of the oxytocin but also because I am woman and that’s how we work. Now I understand that waiting to have sex isn’t about game play or power but is actually about taking care of myself because not waiting and not knowing if the man is truly bonded to me and committed is PAINFUL. These were the tools I needed. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">Maybe when I was young I had room for that sort of pain or even enjoyed the highs and lows but now I’m building a business (a business based on my ability to be present and intuitive, not easy when you are suffering oxytocin </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">withdrawal)</span><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">, raising a ten-year-old boy and </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">having</span><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> intimate female relationships that I truly care about giving, not just taking with my man drama. Bottom line, I don’t have time for drama and this was the last area of my life I was seeking the highs and hoping there wouldn't be lows.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So it’s time to slow things down, be patient, and receive. I’m in no rush. I’m truly finding the balance of my feminine and masculine energies. I savor the notion of not being the commander of the relationship but to be the woman, sit back, allow, be cherished, share my feelings, and enjoy. Dr. Patricia Allen has given me permission to do just this and I am so thankful. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My hair is long, my boots are dusty and that’s how I like it. </span></div>
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<img src="http://i755.photobucket.com/albums/xx195/lookingforcowboy/SRsignature.png" />Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-69429236602992597372013-03-07T02:00:00.000-08:002013-03-07T02:00:02.833-08:00Lesson from the Dead...<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The last time I saw Ken, a man I loved that past away, I gave him a blue Buddha that I’d had for several years. He’d always admired it. Even though I treasured it, I gave it to him. I had no idea why. He took it without much thought. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Five weeks later he died from a skydiving accident. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Soon after, I went to see Marla, a psychic-medium, for a session. She brought him in and he immediately spoke of the Blue Buddha and that he was sorry. He didn’t understand how meaningful it was or it’s significance. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A year before Ken died I received a download of intuitive information about him. At the time I rarely received these downloads so I took notes. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“He lives from fear not from love, the secrets, the game playing, keeping women in need of him to have leverage.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“He will not be successful until he moves into his heart chakra and above.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“He lives completely from ego - what serves his ego is what’s in his life.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“He needs to find truth and live from a place of integrity.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Lives in fear.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Secrets are TOXIC.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now I see that this download is clearly the trouble with most of humanity on some level. We are trapped in our egos, creating our own suffering, afraid. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ken would go on to tell Marla during our session that when he was alive he had always had secrets. That he couldn’t get a hold of his shame and ego so he could feel OK. He didn’t like himself and he wouldn’t learn his lesson. Only in death did he get it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Blue Buddha is often associated with the Akshobhya Buddha and is considered the healer. Blue represents tranquility, ascension, the infinite, purity and healing. It holds the wisdom of the earth and sky. It embodies the duality of living and dying. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is nothing more important than LOVE. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It broke my heart that Ken had to die to find this out for himself but what an incredible gift for the rest of us. </span></div>
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<img src="http://i755.photobucket.com/albums/xx195/lookingforcowboy/SRsignature.png" />Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-22386586558528682682013-02-24T14:07:00.001-08:002013-02-24T17:37:18.435-08:00LOVE+JOY=DEATH <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-aO95zGPTkdY42gHbAZlWFVvgj2qQw7H69EZXaMCarwzz_e_UoKkiVnWaWXgxKFRTVZPsk3kcmEL5E7S91tI6iRzIPwS-gVIRYHt9lqg7HykU6yLnLSR1bNTm1D3FQFi09_K-5Jsa40k/s1600/lovedeath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-aO95zGPTkdY42gHbAZlWFVvgj2qQw7H69EZXaMCarwzz_e_UoKkiVnWaWXgxKFRTVZPsk3kcmEL5E7S91tI6iRzIPwS-gVIRYHt9lqg7HykU6yLnLSR1bNTm1D3FQFi09_K-5Jsa40k/s320/lovedeath.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t want you to die,” Cole said leaning over me as I laughed. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Why would you say that?” I asked, wrestling him to the ground. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I see you as a happy, living woman and I don’t want it to end.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cole, my son, is ten and already equates moments of pure joy with death. Is this what keeps us from loving fully? The fear of death?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I recently finished Dr. Eben Alexander’s book, <i>Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife </i>and felt the same idea was the silent undercurrent of the book, pure love equals the feeling of death. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And perhaps it is a death of sorts, an ego death. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who will I be if I love that much? Will I be destroyed? Disappear? Can my heart take it? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So we live our lives in fear and in response to the fear, we protect. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We go into an ego cocoon. Where we are not present to the world. Living in a tiny space inside our heads of self absorption, afraid of being present. We are afraid if we are present to the world we might be triggered or we fear what might come at us. Looking to the mind to find zones of safety creates suffering. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Often when a client steps into the round pen with a horse, they try to do the work from their head’s. They believe they can think the horse to move but creation comes through the heart, through the divine, the will, the drive. What is created from the mind is created from the ego and is sticky and often muddled so the horse stands still and does nothing. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We are all born capable of pure love but it slowly decreases as we make our way through the world. Sometimes becoming bitter and there is no return from bitter. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So how do we stop creating walls? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">First, we become aware of the fear, acknowledge it and move into it. We realize it isn’t so scary after all and each time we do this, we get closer to our soft juicy centers. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I don’t know about you but I would rather die by pure love than live a life of quiet mediocrity. I live, loud and passionately and boy, oh boy do I make “mistakes” but I own them unabashedly. I’d rather stumble on my dancing feet than not dance. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“<i>There are two mistakes one can make along the road to truth..not going all the way, and not starting.” -</i>Buddha</span></div>
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Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-82243319837898955852013-02-13T08:13:00.001-08:002013-02-13T08:13:20.685-08:00Truth & Loss...<br />
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<span class="s1">For us to speak our truth, we must be in relationship with loss. This understanding is so easily forgotten in the details of life and relationship but if we don’t pay attention, our unspoken truths become resentments and then we are truly lost in ourselves and to the other person. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">When I’m in the round pen with a horse, I begin the “conversation” by asking for what I want. Sometimes I get it right away and other times I need to ask bigger or differently. It depends on the horse but I’ve worked with enough horses that I know in the end I will find what works. I don’t take their response personally, get angry, or create a story about it. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I don’t think, <i>I’m not good enough to get this horse to do what I want it to do, </i>or <i>if this horse really cared about me it would do what I asked without me having to ask again, </i>or the big one, <i>if I truly ask for what I want this horse will not like me and abandon me. </i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">It always comes back to, <i>I want this horse, man, woman, child to love me. </i>So we do mental and emotional summersaults for this result. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">It took much practice and exercising of my “ask for what I want” muscle to be able to do this effortlessly, to read the energy of the horses, to know how to approach, give pressure and release pressure. But to even begin the practice I had to release my fear of abandonment. That was the first lesson. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I accepted that the horse might not come back to me if I asked for what I wanted and expressed my desires clearly. What I learned was that when I got clear and honest, the horses wanted to be round me, they would always “join up.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">This isn’t easy to practice with our fellow human’s because they show up with their own stories and it get’s complicated quickly. It is with the horses that we can first get our own sense of how it feels to ask for what we want and practice feeling the energy of clarity. Then with baby steps we can take the work out of the round pen, realizing that not speaking our truth is no longer an option. Even if it means loss. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Because in the end we will find those who can hold a space for us in our entirety and this <span style="color: #660000;">LOVE</span>. </span></div>
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<img src="http://i755.photobucket.com/albums/xx195/lookingforcowboy/SRsignature.png" />Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-20546898153957545562013-02-07T18:18:00.000-08:002013-02-07T18:25:03.956-08:00Naked Truth...<div>
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I am a Life Coach. I say this because ever since I "became" a Life Coach, I've questioned what to share, how to present myself, how to gain clients, what is my image?<br />
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It's exhausting.<br />
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What most people don't know is that I've been a blogger for many years. I've blogged so much that I've actually deleted two novels worth of writing because I was in fear of who was reading my blog at the time. That was years ago.</div>
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A year ago I was told to remove my old blog, that I needed to take it down, make it "hidden." I agreed. It didn't feel OK to share my past as I was in the chrysalis preparing to be reborn. (Yes, this might sound dramatic but there's truth in it.)</div>
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But now I'm secure in who I am and really...how many people are going to go back and read hundreds of old blogs? Only those that are curious and if they aren't open hearted to how one evolves am I really interested? Not really.</div>
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I think my journey will help people. I've had lots of experiences and as I get to coach lots of amazing and fabulous people, who knows what blog post might help them on their journey. I'm open and ready to receive. </div>
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So enough with wordpress and different blogs...I'm back to where I belong. Here on www.staceyjwarner.blogspot.com</div>
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Enjoy!</div>
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Love ya!</div>
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(It's good to be back)</div>
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Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-92085205677035110592011-11-04T11:56:00.000-07:002011-11-10T04:28:33.296-08:00the Call...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnp10HZB-N_OApoAQuKl0FlY8lof8dRU1JSlIcICT6eq1jYl046c5zcLjlA-unF50CJ7IAJF0olcuoy3a0dWV2VxLNYHAEINMFqDU8VQUtA69sAMr9wb_UACgrFQHDI0fkvQsHFUWeA5w/s1600/GreetingsFromAustin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnp10HZB-N_OApoAQuKl0FlY8lof8dRU1JSlIcICT6eq1jYl046c5zcLjlA-unF50CJ7IAJF0olcuoy3a0dWV2VxLNYHAEINMFqDU8VQUtA69sAMr9wb_UACgrFQHDI0fkvQsHFUWeA5w/s320/GreetingsFromAustin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When people ask me why I moved to Austin, I often wrestle with what to say. I ask myself, <i>should I tell the truth?</i> <i>Can they handle it?</i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Because, to be honest, the truth sounds a little crazy. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sometimes I’ll say, for a better quality of life or I didn’t want to raise my son in Los Angeles. Other times, I’ll actually just blurt out the truth, my psychic told me to, well, actually the Thems told my psychic to mention it and when They speak, I listen. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It was The Call. I’d been waiting for it, biding my time, doing what I thought I was meant to be doing, living in LA, writing, working at Lionsgate. It had started to feel I was living a quarter of the life I was meant to but until I got a sign, I was staying put. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When I first heard Austin on that February day, I wasn’t sure what to think. Finally, I was hearing, move, a word I’d been wanting to hear for years and there I was feeling so lazy that the thought of moving made me want to crawl into bed and not peek out. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But, if I didn’t do this than I’d be left with nothing. My faith is the most important thing to me and not following the signs meant to me I didn’t trust God, the Universe, or the Thems. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I had to move.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Moving was surrendering.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It was time.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But there were and still are times that I ask myself, am I crazy?</span></div>Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-37506538780438476392011-08-06T08:36:00.000-07:002011-08-06T08:43:53.022-07:00my peaceful view and Chad...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhaFKPEatG-68-B2V-DepVDqAUQPS_e1Vpr8smGhQhyphenhyphen2Kv_NlscQc0uo3LjLCDz7VDxeT06mpmh0J-EC3EePlVxoLRkLpC7Gr1_Mz8xcAXl3inh-qPUaDp9_ChAFgfaZoW7Ev1K4mJ5oI/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhaFKPEatG-68-B2V-DepVDqAUQPS_e1Vpr8smGhQhyphenhyphen2Kv_NlscQc0uo3LjLCDz7VDxeT06mpmh0J-EC3EePlVxoLRkLpC7Gr1_Mz8xcAXl3inh-qPUaDp9_ChAFgfaZoW7Ev1K4mJ5oI/s320/photo-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Yesterday, Cole and I were swimming in the pool when a helicopter started circling overhead. It was green, non descript so I couldn’t make out what it was doing but I had a feeling it couldn’t be good. Usually I wouldn’t think twice about a helicopter circling. In Hollywood it was the norm. Searchlights flashing through the living room went unnoticed but here in Austin, I watched it like an exotic bird hoping it wasn’t surveying a small forest fire. We live on the edge of a greenbelt and it’s bone dry here, we would have to kiss our newly rented condo good-bye. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After more than two hours of swimming and helicopter circling it was time to head back to the condo. As we reached the top of the hill, a police car crawled by and continued down our quiet, tree covered road, and parked in the front of our entrance –guarding it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Are we safe,” Cole asked. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Yes,” I said remembering when I was about his age, living in Mays Pond, a suburb of Seattle, my neighbor saw a man hanging out on the side of my house and called the police. Within minutes, they were there. The man was already gone. Nothing goes unnoticed in the suburbs. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The good news was that with the arrival of the police it most likely wasn’t a forest fire. The bad news was it was probably a criminal on the run. I hurried Cole into the house and locked the door behind us. I didn’t want to scare him but I also didn’t want him to think nothing was going on. It is important for children to read the signs, listen to their instincts, and respond accordingly. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We settled into dinner standing in our kitchen. We still don’t have furniture and Cole is sanctioned to eating in the kitchen because of the off-white carpeting. Before long, I heard a loud woman’s voice. My first thought was, oh great we do have loud neighbors but it sounded different, almost like a TV.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I stepped outside on the patio. “We are know you are in the house,” boomed across the canyon. “I can not guarantee your safety if you stay in the house. You need to exit on the West side of building with nothing in your hands. We know who you are.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>They know who he is?<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“CHAD, you must exit the house and talk to the police,” reverberated through the canyon. <i>Wow, </i>I thought, <i>this is different. </i> Even though Chad had obviously done something wrong, there was still care and understanding in the woman's tone. The anonymity of LA gone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I listened, I noticed people moving with flashlights down in the greenbelt. I hoped it was the police and not more of Chad’s crew on the lam. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The police gave Chad plenty of time to get out of the house. At one point I thought I heard gunshots but when I went outside the police woman’s voice droned the same information. “Chad you must exit the house on the west side. I can not guarantee your safety.” No fear or panic present. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eventually Chad must have left the house. I’m not sure what time. By 12:30am when I was sitting on my patio enjoying my Sleepy Tim tea while meditating on the sound of the wind rustling the trees, the moon and the stars, it was quiet. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps this was God’s way of saying welcome to Austin, you aren’t that far from Hollywood. I must confess. I did keep my eye on the greenbelt for those flashlights shimmering through the trees. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-58347645615315342032011-05-17T06:19:00.000-07:002011-11-04T12:09:16.095-07:00Me...by Cole Warner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSKGYxyGktfiu4ds1q1BWKbT_SlaNyhi5OtoWGn28r0eiGcdtr3cIDXin_oBMeXQ0-fHnHcE8ZKcaV80QgEj3VNsuJGr4L47osSMji468AeD9XF-7uKOkO1YRuYeFIiL71NxmMgaKoZ8/s1600/IMG_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSKGYxyGktfiu4ds1q1BWKbT_SlaNyhi5OtoWGn28r0eiGcdtr3cIDXin_oBMeXQ0-fHnHcE8ZKcaV80QgEj3VNsuJGr4L47osSMji468AeD9XF-7uKOkO1YRuYeFIiL71NxmMgaKoZ8/s320/IMG_0257.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><i>Me is a good word. It can be used in many ways. Me is like a point of view. Me can mean it's yourself.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>much love,</i><br />
<i>-stacey</i>Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-59449899816263798652011-02-10T06:04:00.000-08:002011-08-05T21:51:55.621-07:00when I am lost...The mornings and the evenings are the strangest of times. Those brief moments when Cole is asleep or reading before sleep and I am alone. These are the moments I find myself lost, not knowing quite what to do. Life doesn't feel quite the same.<br />
<br />
I have come to realize that even though my relationship with K was over, I had held on to the fantasy that one day we would have a Romantic Comedy ending. He would call or knock on my door, chase me down the isle on my wedding day to another man and profess his love to me. I was -delusional. <br />
<br />
But I don't believe I was alone. I believe there were other fair maidens out there touched by K's magic like Orpheus and his music. They, too, believed that one day he would enter Hades to retrieve them but they were fooled by the magic of his music, there can only be one Eurydice. <br />
<br />
In those moments when I am lost, I find myself staring at this painting of Orpheus leading Eurydice through the woods. The fair maidens across the water, mourning not being chosen and Eurydice being led unknowingly to what would end in her death -lost in him, in a trance. In all the photos of Orpheus and Eurydice there is no joy, only pain, suffering and longing...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cb3xd31fBkJ_NqzCMGQ5wRLByy8rKbc626M2fBfMTjDK9eosPLiXtLM77aX3rrcKvMVrjE-WcshD-x0QoVLxqio1lcfZa2r8AtuRFkPmOJbqCRNiQHFsyecMjmXv5GvfRM1E1FYUmlo/s1600/orpheus-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cb3xd31fBkJ_NqzCMGQ5wRLByy8rKbc626M2fBfMTjDK9eosPLiXtLM77aX3rrcKvMVrjE-WcshD-x0QoVLxqio1lcfZa2r8AtuRFkPmOJbqCRNiQHFsyecMjmXv5GvfRM1E1FYUmlo/s320/orpheus-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-80968564756773556212011-02-04T09:40:00.000-08:002011-08-05T22:30:07.132-07:00in mourning...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMh8IN3CnICHfm8CCG2_OF5D_uF_1FWMKM4xIFdPae_LoiZZru9XPopAY-bGYhsP1d6iD6i68DuU0zsxKAVnQtNyaE2plJbvmmhJeRYvJJPBkfrr_fPYzxW3dwMIFeBB5jA2u77q91hs4/s1600/light081206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMh8IN3CnICHfm8CCG2_OF5D_uF_1FWMKM4xIFdPae_LoiZZru9XPopAY-bGYhsP1d6iD6i68DuU0zsxKAVnQtNyaE2plJbvmmhJeRYvJJPBkfrr_fPYzxW3dwMIFeBB5jA2u77q91hs4/s320/light081206.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>On Monday I discovered, through Facebook, that "Luke," the man I'd been seeing for the better part of a year but had broken up with in June, had passed away from a skydiving accident. back in July. He was 44 and left behind two children.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure why I'm writing about it here. Perhaps as a test run, to see how it feels to type the words of his death in a public forum. To get over my fear of him being dead, me being alive, and continuing to write about him. He has been the subject of all my writing since July. He is major part of my memoir. He was the mirror that showed me that I was a Love Addict. Now he is a mirror, showing me the deeper layers of my core issues. <br />
<br />
When I met him, there was instant chemistry. I actually wrote about our first date here, on my blog, but once he became a "follower" I deleted it. I didn't want him to know how smitten I was. In the personal essay I recently finished and was just beginning the process of rewriting I wrote, "Our first hello was a kiss and a hug and I could have sworn I'd kissed that spot between his chin and neck a million times before. I flashed to our wedding day." <br />
<br />
It's strange to think back to that time, I felt that I knew directly from Spirit that I was going to meet someone of significance in May. So when I met Luke, (I have the hardest time calling him by a different name now) I truly believed he was the "one." <br />
<br />
His death is an opportunity for great healing. There are so many details about his passing, the timing of it, how I found out, what it felt like, what is happening now, the layers of grief that I'm not sure where to begin.<br />
<br />
I've been looking back on my blog to see what I had been writing about the day he died, July 18, 2010. The title was "<a href="http://staceyjwarner.blogspot.com/2010/07/divine-plan.html">divine plan..."</a> and it was about him. The day before I had written about the last texts we had sent to each other and my words seem too final now. <br />
<br />
In happier times, I wrote this, <a href="http://staceyjwarner.blogspot.com/2009/08/synchronicity-dress-and-tattoo.html">"synchronicity, the dress, and the tattoo..."</a><br />
<br />
much love<br />
-staceyStacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-88835338856925818582011-02-02T21:36:00.000-08:002011-08-05T22:12:16.786-07:00St. Joan of Arc...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqz1hkhl-BpxoB3pOGUYhUL8SsnFB85L83bTtC8ZNdfD8pYSTFi0CnigLd-RKffRt-VQ3a6ax-G24zwkTsif3GhqWc4kwh3j2-9QT7NvHihDgohEbKXXqX5D-jnNDovjstgpUCfV9Czk/s1600/thirion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqz1hkhl-BpxoB3pOGUYhUL8SsnFB85L83bTtC8ZNdfD8pYSTFi0CnigLd-RKffRt-VQ3a6ax-G24zwkTsif3GhqWc4kwh3j2-9QT7NvHihDgohEbKXXqX5D-jnNDovjstgpUCfV9Czk/s400/thirion.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><i>I hear the voice of God</i><br />
<i> and I want to save people<br />
and in it I sacrifice myself<br />
<br />
K. I feel the abuse you had as a child. I felt my<br />
mother's abuse. I just want to save them and I hear<br />
the voice of God.<br />
<br />
All is forgiven, forgive <br />
your selves.<br />
<br />
I will not be rescued <br />
my prince is not coming<br />
There is no fantasy to <br />
sustain me. I am what I have, <br />
that and God.<br />
<br />
I can do this.<br />
I can do this.<br />
<br />
I can esteem myself.<br />
I can have healthy boundaries.<br />
<br />
I can have self worth if I have nothing.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
R.I.P, KLM - I feel your love and I love you, truly, madly, deeply. I know you are still "following" me. xoxo-dork<br />
<br />
God bless!<br />
<br />
much love,<br />
-staceyStacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-30229062724519382292011-01-21T06:37:00.000-08:002011-11-04T12:11:49.577-07:00poetry in motion...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWebuZGmhGqdptTKhSdB8-Vtd8u2frOdtNcOd72Nzln0IwhntzL8_Pi5f1nHlzA7T3DBC0yyB-kxJQxj2tU7PSnc1VevoYTT2rS_xg0KJDT4OlgndlVi1vkNQB7sjzIC80JJ8k_bInx1Y/s1600/IMG_0244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWebuZGmhGqdptTKhSdB8-Vtd8u2frOdtNcOd72Nzln0IwhntzL8_Pi5f1nHlzA7T3DBC0yyB-kxJQxj2tU7PSnc1VevoYTT2rS_xg0KJDT4OlgndlVi1vkNQB7sjzIC80JJ8k_bInx1Y/s320/IMG_0244.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The "American Sentence," one sentence of seventeen syllables, was created by Allen Ginsberg. He was inspired by the traditional Japanese haiku -three lines of five, seven and five syllables. <br />
<br />
As a writer, I use the structure to play with words and find my muse. However, if you aren't a writer, it is a fun way to shake up your day and bring a little magic into the moment. <br />
<br />
Here are a few I wrote while driving in my car, sitting at my desk, etc.<br />
<br />
<i>Morning mist obscures the light shining through my curtains, another day</i><br />
<br />
<i>Quiet moon fills, closing the gap of time, blasting tender dreams of yesterday.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Tattoo sleeves chain smoke while fingers text furiously, what causes the fever of time? </i><br />
<br />
<i>Child stranded under horse, piss, dust, blood, smell of fear and where was I?</i><br />
<br />
<i>My eyes open to find you studying my face lost in it's own ecstacy.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Beside me always without question, me a caged bird silently chirping.</i><br />
<br />
Please give it a go and share. I'd love to hear your poetry. We are all poets.<br />
<br />
<img src="http://i755.photobucket.com/albums/xx195/lookingforcowboy/SRsignature.png" />Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-71146650502478851752010-12-11T18:31:00.000-08:002010-12-11T18:31:52.307-08:00the drive home...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYI69Jy51_wf_tdBCAthUEB9gcjg80CHz96matJ5K2-g3t2z0LsEZlpDM4nRMxM_DQgC5-YatQzpnhiRmxREFGnBxeAJav6uMz6bGz52A84brCsfCrxvjF1wFeMy5PFMwUSQEs5khB4UM/s1600/mime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYI69Jy51_wf_tdBCAthUEB9gcjg80CHz96matJ5K2-g3t2z0LsEZlpDM4nRMxM_DQgC5-YatQzpnhiRmxREFGnBxeAJav6uMz6bGz52A84brCsfCrxvjF1wFeMy5PFMwUSQEs5khB4UM/s320/mime.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>The other night, while driving my seven-year-old son, Cole, home from school, he asked, "What are those guys dressed in black and white and move like this called?" I glanced behind me as he moved like he was stuck behind an invisible wall. <br />
<br />
"A mime?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, a mime. Why are they called mimes?"<br />
<br />
I went on to explain that when they are wearing their special outfits they don't speak but only gesture.<br />
<br />
"Oh, like my teacher's boyfriend."<br />
<br />
This gave me pause until I remembered his teacher's boyfriend is deaf. <br />
<br />
"Yeah, sort of, I'd never thought about it that way, very smart of you, to put those two together." <br />
<br />
I looked in the rear view mirror, smiled and prayed that, that was the end of his fascination with mimes. <br />
<br />
<img src="http://i755.photobucket.com/albums/xx195/lookingforcowboy/SRsignature.png" />Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-21417046461373363822010-11-28T19:55:00.000-08:002010-11-28T19:55:34.293-08:00purpose...George Bernard Shaw-<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCs7ezPPOAmSn_yumJvrZPcByS9PlPryCjclkjBNrhwEeb7oy28_qpgDliAl9Z26t4GTG1gnU_m2RwUTsQAIp7DlU_IOfLAYXVGvemamqkQv4HCHCu8ViDjoJjLW4hz2Ccuyi13Lb0Tlg/s1600/r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCs7ezPPOAmSn_yumJvrZPcByS9PlPryCjclkjBNrhwEeb7oy28_qpgDliAl9Z26t4GTG1gnU_m2RwUTsQAIp7DlU_IOfLAYXVGvemamqkQv4HCHCu8ViDjoJjLW4hz2Ccuyi13Lb0Tlg/s320/r.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<br />
<img src="http://i755.photobucket.com/albums/xx195/lookingforcowboy/SRsignature.png" />Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-11555026399594944932010-10-29T22:06:00.000-07:002010-11-11T10:05:22.196-08:00divorced...<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9KfGjHfVoVXGifrED8uj49a8RXtF41eshjZzDGJ4fFWOHA757K2ke9re24OjmOuASLrQqhlMZ9PXSIRxRie-N0rr6a-0Sy5nmAADaH1iUnHc07vl9PXSEu7P4-L6uuLGURr_FIoJASCE/s1600/foursouls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9KfGjHfVoVXGifrED8uj49a8RXtF41eshjZzDGJ4fFWOHA757K2ke9re24OjmOuASLrQqhlMZ9PXSIRxRie-N0rr6a-0Sy5nmAADaH1iUnHc07vl9PXSEu7P4-L6uuLGURr_FIoJASCE/s400/foursouls.jpg" width="400" /></a>“We are getting a divorce and think its best you each decide which parent you want to live with,” said my mom. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I was eleven. My sister was thirteen and a half. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> The hovering bomb had finally dropped. We stood, motionless, in shock like four lost souls lingering over their dead bodies. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> What do we do now?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Where was the light? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Then we floated apart. My dad and sister went for a walk. My mom went to the kitchen and I took council with Henry, my stuffed monkey. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Alana will go with mom.” I picked at Henry’s loose, felt nostril. “She doesn’t like dad and he doesn’t like her.” (Alana was the glue of our fate; the accidental pregnancy.) Henry’s brown eyes and perpetual pink smile stared back it me, always available. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I’m about to start getting my period.” I whispered, falling back on the bed, hugging him close. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> <i>I can’t imagine anything worse than asking dad for pads or tampons</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.</span><i> </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I have no choice, Henry. I have to go with mom.” I closed my eyes.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Later, I stood in the doorway of my parent’s room. My sight obscured by welling tears. My dad, alone, looked up from his book and smiled.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I’m sorry.” I blurted and ran to him, sobbing. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> A year later, I’d watch my parents remarry each other. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Six years after that, I’d go through a similar scene, in the kitchen, mom leaning against the counter, my dad against the stove, me at the kitchen table, again deciding what to do, but this time I was eighteen. I had no interest in becoming a surrogate wife to my dad and my mom was done. I chose to move out.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Perhaps this is why I have no interest in marriage. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Luckily, I still have Henry.</div><br />
<img src="http://i755.photobucket.com/albums/xx195/lookingforcowboy/SRsignature.png" />Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904200650235057078.post-84340034094578380962010-10-18T14:53:00.000-07:002010-10-18T14:53:21.771-07:00life radiates from within...<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5yniwdc9js1VO27mOczaRKcYL-amB1_qOMPumkUClSCUzop8gu8S6S30I_Glhokh8VB38ap1D_qfaSsxyxRjnIs0fl9rDmU18ZXVT1wptm4XR6fnE8B-OEW2WGx0GD3XXChgDutU_C4/s1600/cole_looking_in_a_hole.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5yniwdc9js1VO27mOczaRKcYL-amB1_qOMPumkUClSCUzop8gu8S6S30I_Glhokh8VB38ap1D_qfaSsxyxRjnIs0fl9rDmU18ZXVT1wptm4XR6fnE8B-OEW2WGx0GD3XXChgDutU_C4/s400/cole_looking_in_a_hole.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>It's been two months from the last day I wrote - a mere coincidence.</div><br />
I must admit, after coming to terms with being a fantasy addict (which as far as I'm concerned incorporates sex, love, romance) I went silent. Nothing was wrong per say, I just needed to go in the cave and be still. I wanted to lick my self-created wounds in privacy and not be commented on. <br />
<br />
Unable to work on my memoir because it no longer made sense with my new found self-diagnoses, I wondered if it wouldn't just end up another great idea I wouldn't finish and did it matter? I have so many journals filled with words, I have finally started throwing my writing away. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I toppled into ego, feeling if I couldn't be the best writer than why write? What did I have to say that was different than anyone else? Why waste my time? Do you smell another ego driven fantasy lurking? One that needed dismantling...so there I found myself slowly unraveling my need for my writing to save me. <br />
<br />
And then quite suddenly all of my fantasies were gone...pop. <br />
<br />
Who am I?<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I am still assimilating. I am clearer than I've ever been. I am quiet. Slowly I am learning to write because I enjoy it, in the moment with no expectations. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I wake up every morning, I give thanks, I walk my dog, I write, I drink tea, I meditate, I wake up Cole, I drop him off at school, I go to work. The evenings have a similar routine. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But it is in this routine that I have found everything I could ever want. There is nothing lacking. Even if my house were bigger with an Oscar sitting on the mantel holding up the book I'd published, with an adoring husband waiting to kiss me good-night -the routine would be the same, I would still be there, nothing would have truly changed. This is what it means to chop wood, carry water. I've never understood the term before. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Life radiates from within...always. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><img src="http://i755.photobucket.com/albums/xx195/lookingforcowboy/SRsignature.png" />Stacey J. Warnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08059617724860253448noreply@blogger.com5