Tag: Living on the Senior Side

KICKING THE TIRES OF MARCH 6 2021

S R Janssen

Third Year is the Charm, That’s Definite

 Hot Damn, it’s the first week of March: meaning that I have missed fifty-one days of practicing imagination posting my experiences therewith (now there is pompous word.)

I’ve been toying with this idea for three years now, but never committed to serious practice of it. Nevertheless, my spasmodic attention led me to Neville Goddard.

Listening to his lectures (courtesy of You Tube), as well as reading his publications convinced me take the creative powers of imagination seriously. For the remainder of the year, I am committing myself to daily practice of imagination-putting my heart into it.

It certainly provides a focus for my life at a point where I need a passionate reason for being. The “Year of Covid-19” plunked me into a state of drifting. Not only did I not know what week it was, I didn’t know what I was doing here.

After all, I don’t have endless time and I desire a path to follow with dedication as it provides the core around which to build days filled with satisfaction, fun and all-around happiness.

Won’t it be fun to see how it goes.

Kicking the Tires of August 3

S R Janssen
It may not work on your walls but it’s a good color for your thoughts

“Tomorrow” Allows too Much Time to Pass

Limbo

It’s appalling how many days have gone by since I set aside my daily post “until tomorrow” thereby allowing 30 beads to fall off the necklace of my days and roll away. As fast as time travels these days, I can’t afford a thirty day drift of my life.

I feel disorganized, disarranged, disheveled, and displaced as I vacillate between one should and another. Actually I can’t complain because I snapped together some small jigsaw pieces that are to build a picture.

Furthermore, I am reading some writers, albeit new to me, that have been hanging around from last century that are offering the same message. It validates this year’s life experiment.

Sixty-five years after the fact, I made peace between myself and Karen Stortz about the incident of the keys to the cafeteria. For a second I felt myself in Karen’s shoes; it seemed I was feeling her feelings that day. It was a feeling that I have felt myself frequently, so holding it against her is the pot calling the kettle black. Why did I hold on to that insignificant little event for six decades?

In my imagination, I revised the events of those few moments by creating three scenarios in my mind. The most satisfactory was the one where everything happened exactly the same, except her angry words rolled off like water on a duck’s back. God I was insufferable at age 10.

P. S. I am really pleased with the meat balls that I made last night in the InstaPot. It was easy and took very little time when I substituted imagination for missing ingredients.