How Do You Do?

I'm slowly trying to make this blog into something that will be useful and inspiring to others. For better or worse, I'm not very snarky and my sense of humor is weird, so I can't sell you on those points. I probably come across as a self-indulgent teenager, when I'm actually a 44 year old mom. All I can say in my defense is that I'm one of those sensitive artist dweebs who can barely handle the steps required to shove my novels out the door, let alone bolster the spirits of all the miserable people around me. (It's especially challenging when people don't want to do the work needed to make themselves happy, preferring to lay blame on other people for their own misery, thereby relinquishing their own power and making themselves even unhappier. :) I know, because I've done that, too. But I digress.)

Well, anyway, I've got this poem I was going to put up here, but I keep changing it. It's a poem I wrote for my left shoulder. Yes, that's right. I'm writing to my body parts. And here's the thing about that: I want to fully resonate with the wholeness that channels through me. When I do that, either my pain will go away, or I will no longer care about it. Not sure which. Care to make guesses? Sometimes I think it is wanting something that makes me miserable. You know, like Wanting The Pain To Go Away. Or Wishing Someone Could Fix Me or I Could Fix Myself.  I suspect I just need to live with it and be content with living with it. Easier said than done for a novice like me.