A Gutsy Guide to Getting Your Mojo Back

Hello Pinkies,

Joy here, in the midst of one of those epiphanies Alice wrote about last weekend. I couldn’t think of anyone better to share it with than you Pinkies.

An Intention

Not long ago, I asked the Universe to allow me to speak. Speak my mind, speak my truth, speak at all. You see, I’ve never been a talker. I’ve always been quiet – soft-spoken, not contributing much. When I did venture to open my maw, I’d stumble over words and struggle through whatever it was I needed to say. If I had a question or a need, or if there was a mix-up or mistake, I wouldn’t dare voice my curiosity or confusion. Interrupting anyone was out of the question. Opinions were never expressed (probably because I didn’t have any). For three decades, the world has spun without much input from me.

Then, through learning and guidance and the stuff of life, I came to realize not long ago that I have a right to be here on this spinning earth. That I was born, and as such there was a place for me. That the world wants – no, NEEDS – my presence, my ideas, and my gifts. Granted, I had been writing them into the world for years. My pen had always been powerful; my typing fingers compensating for what my larynx could not produce. But writing is not the most user-friendly option when, say, you stop at a gas station for directions, or need to tell the hairdresser that she cut your bangs too short last time. You can’t very well go around cocktail parties with a pad of Post-Its and a UniBall (can you?). No, I needed to speak – for minutes at a time, without stumbling, without anyone asking me to speak up. I needed to maintain eye contact, let silences exist without being awkward, march right up and say “excuse me.” It was time.

And, as with most intentions sent out into the Universe with total surrender and trust, the imperceptible shifts began to happen. One day, seemingly out of nowhere, I began to notice that I have conversations: whole, coherent, satisfying conversations. I have thoughts about things and I, like, share them — and sometimes even (gasp!) argue for them. I say things like, “can I stop you right there?” Granted, there is work to be done. There’s still a great deal of stumblage and my eyes will stray from those of the person to whom I am speaking more than I’d like. But as with everything, it’s an unfolding. There’s no “there” there. I’m just grateful for the progress.

It Gets Better

But that’s not the half of it. Over time, I’ve become comfortable enough with the talking that I’m able to step back slightly and observe what I hear myself saying. And it’s seriously fascinating, Pinkies! I know stuff. And the really cool part is that I don’t know how I know it. I share truths about the Universe with clients, my boyfriend, anyone who will listen – or, rather, who wishes to hear. The thing is, I can’t remember learning any of this, really. Sure, I’ve read my share of Neale Donald Walsh and Esther and Jerry Hicks; I’ve done some psychic training and am engaged in a profound personal development program of my own. However, what I have to say comes from somewhere else. I know it does. I tell people what I see in them – progress they’ve made; questions they may wish to ask; perceived shifts in energy.

I have been working to develop my intuition – learning what it was and how to keep the voices of judgment from dog piling onto the glimmers of truth from my highest self. Last week, at the Love Fest, I met Rose, a wonderful intuitive woman who confirmed for me that my own brand of intuition comes through feeling rather than seeing. Unlike Lissa, I’ve never been able to conjure images easily. I’ve been under the impression that I needed to train for this … like an athlete for a marathon. Focus and try and keep at it. I assumed I was still in training. But in one instant, in the middle of the dance floor against a backdrop of beating drums, Rose confirmed for me that it’s been here all along. I just haven’t recognized it. I haven’t trusted it. In a few short sentences, she set me free.

So now not only do I speak, I speak my truth. And my truth isn’t stuff like, “Actually, I’d prefer Italian tonight instead of Chinese,” (though there’s plenty of that) … the truth is actually The Truth. Indisputable information from realms unknown is being communicated to me through channels unseen. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, I find it difficult NOT to express it.

Gratitude and Continuance

I know who I have to thank. Well, certainly, I must thank the Universe for its undying loyalty in answering all my intentions with scenarios far more miraculous than I ever could have pictured. But the universe is all around us – the things we touch and the people we meet. The Universe has come through for me via you Pinkies. You healers who have kept affirming that I too have a healing gift. You sages who have treated me as one of you, who have recognized my hugeness even as I vehemently doubted it. You intuitives who told me what you saw when I didn’t ask because I didn’t know to. You Pinkies who have sent your love to plug in the holes where old, stale energy had once resided. I thank you.

And I ask you – are you fully expressed in the world? Are you not only owning what is true for you, but getting it out there? Are you dancing it, painting it, drumming it? Are you playing it, teaching it, cooking it? What might be holding your truth at bay, and how can we help YOU birth it into the world that – trust me – desperately needs what you have to give?

Finally saying it,

Joy