“You’re crazy, mom. You’re crazy. That’s it. You’re crazy! I wasn’t going to say it. But you insisted.”
This was my daughter’s reaction to telling her one of my woo-woo stories.I just laughed.
Couldn’t very well get mad now, could I? Not when I’d badgered her to spit it out. But it’s a violation of family pseudo-bicker etiquette to heave a sigh without explaining it. It was 60/40: 60% on the joke side, I think. 40% serious. Or maybe all serious, I don’t know! I can only imagine what she tells people before she introduces them to me.
“My mom’s really nice, but she’s nuts. She has pink hair and flips Tarot cards and skips around talking about spirit animals and getting hypnotized by anything shiny.” And that’s just the beginning. I imagine she could do a couple hours just warming up on my eccentricities. I’ve got enough genius, the term works.
I don’t tell her that I’m not always so sure about all us woo-woo folks, either. At least, some of ‘em! This field sometimes attracts folks who have…unusual ideas of reality. (Ok, I know I’m Ms. Pot here. I’m ignoring that for the moment.)
Let’s say…some of y’all seem crazy. There. I said it.
That’s not very polite, I know. It’s like the woo-woo world’s dirty little secret, there are lunatics running around. Now, as somebody who’s been called nuts all my life–and often without love–I understand, it can be a bit of a raw spot. Even more so, knowing what I believe right this minute, would have been much more than enough to make my past-self convinced my now-self was unhinged.
It’s relative. But isn’t that the nature of seeking? It’s not really seeking if you predefine the answers that qualify as acceptable. Life happens. I see and think and grow, and that’s right. But even so, even knowing all that…some of y’all seem a little whack. And some of y’all, I’m thinking always will seem that way to me.
Humanity exists on a crazy continuum, up and down which we slide. I’ll cop that at times, I’m not entirely sure where I might fall. The neighbors could attest! I’ve got Uranus, though, so I can get by with calling it “eccentric.” Maybe nobody else does, but I do and it makes me feel better. Thank God for that.
All of us are crazy some of the time, and some of us are crazy all the time; most fall in between. And I’m fine with that.
Just don’t hassle me, telling me what I have to believe in order to qualify as “sane.” And I’ll be kind, and not tell you what to believe. That’s fair, right? My reality doesn’t have to be yours. Your reality doesn’t have to be mine. We each have the right version, we’re in the right movie for ourselves, our karma, what we came down into the physical plane to do.
Live and let live, baby. It works better that way. We have the reality we need, when we need it. (So says[amazon_link id="B0014D5RBE" target="_blank" container="" container_class="" ] Lars[/amazon_link].)
Do you have a little crazy in ya?