Coffee Pocket

coffee pocketThat’s right—coffee pocket, not packet, though I’m sure coffee packets exist. Probably in motel rooms, or certain hotel rooms, alongside whatever they’re offering that will allow you to heat up some water. But this is about coffee pockets. I never made my very own coffee pocket before yesterday, and this one needs work, but it does the trick, namely, to hold my coffee container or travel mug in place while inside my bag.

I’ve always appreciated those bags and backpacks with outside pockets large enough for my travel mug. But as this bag I bought last winter didn’t have one, my mug kept gravitating to a lying down position. Which was alright really, as the lid was capable of being screwed on tightly and there were no leaks. But I kept thinking how much better it would be if there was a pocket, you know, in which to insert it so it would stand upright.

You see, when there are so many seemingly unsolvable problems in the world, or even in our own lives, it can be beneficial to focus on a little thing that you can improve. So yesterday I finally did it. I made the pocket for my travel mug and this morning took it out for a trial run. It worked! I guess the next thing to do would be to figure out how to mass produce these handy pockets, assuming of course, that there are other women out there who carry travel mugs in their bags without coffee pockets.

Or maybe not. Probably better to get back to my real work, which is writing a memoir about how I freed myself from the past. This may sound strange, but I didn’t know until recently that that was what it was about. That’s the thing about writing your experiences down; you often aren’t aware of the big picture until you write about all those little pictures your memory bank is still carting around. (Memory pockets!)

One final word about coffee. I don’t have to go out for it. I am currently working from home, in a small office at the rear of my apartment, right behind the kitchen (in the old days it was the maid’s room) where I can make as much coffee as I please. But I like to get dressed up in the morning and join the crowds heading off to work or to school, so that I can have that bit of adrenalin feeling I am heading off to do important things too.

And one final word about pockets. It’s about power. About knowing, in however small a way, that I can make things better/easier/more efficient or whatever, without having to rely on someone else to do it for me. When my son was little I used to make extra pockets for him inside his jackets, and pockets in his pajamas… It’s a Wendy thing. What can I say… Except that the coffee I went out for this morning is all gone and it’s time to get back to work.

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One with the Weather

When I had a television I used to watch Chanel One’s “Weather On The Ones.” And now, on this last day of muggy New York weather, (we are promised it will be cooler and drier by the morning) I have set a goal to be ONE with it. Hot and humid is my least favorite kind of weather. It saps my energy, makes me feel heavy and lethargic. Five minutes after taking a cool shower it’s like I never had one at all.

I’ve heard (in certain esoteric circles) that our thoughts affect the weather. That violent storms are rooted in our own thoughts of violence. That thoughts are things. The expression “thought-forms” means when we have a thought in our head, whatever it is, it takes on a form that can then influence the thoughts of others—near or far. We are all picking each other up all the time whether we know it or not. All these thoughts drifting around the atmosphere, colliding with one another. It’s why we’re always reminded to be positive, so we will attract more positive energies.

This summer of 2014 in New York has been one of the easiest to bear that I can remember. Today won’t be difficult either, as I know relief is in store by tomorrow. But I’m trying to stop myself from longing for the future, even if it is only tomorrow. As soon as the summer began I started thinking as I do every summer, oh geez, I can’t wait till fall! But this year I said wait a minute—why don’t you wish your life away while you’re at it. Be Here Now. And all that.

So you could say I was focusing on my mental process. Meanwhile, I am living in a physical body that reacts to weather. My hair frizzes up. The moisture in the air that curls my hair, swelling each strand and increasing the overall volume, also seems to increase the volume of my body. Regardless of how I look, and even if it is only my perception, I feel fat when it’s humid. Heat expands things, cold contracts. We know this. So it’s no wonder I long for the crispness of fall when I will feel frisky again.

But today, instead of thinking of my bodily response to humidity as a negative, I’m wondering if maybe it hasn’t been a good thing all along. Because I remember seeing this French philosopher being interviewed on television (when I had a television) whose hair caught my attention. As I was listening to what he was saying, I observed the way his hair moved. His hair was longish and wavy, and just as expressive as he was. I can’t remember his words now, only the way his hair moved. How it framed his face, how its personality perfectly expressed the personality and energy of the man. The interviewer, another man, had the short-cropped, combed and sprayed hair you see on most TV anchors. Hair that is always in place, just-so. Hair that never moves. And here was this philosopher, this thinker, with wild untamed—real hair. Hair with personality.

So, just for today, I am going to rejoice in the fact that I am susceptible to changes in the weather. Because, if we live in a world of vibrations then weather is a vibration too. And I respond! I’m a living being, responding to the vibration of heat and moisture in the atmosphere around me. And in case you’re thinking what a fuss I’m making over hair, there’s currently a low-flying helicopter over my neighborhood, back and forth, back and forth, making a lot of noise. I tried to look out the window, but I have window guards which prevent me from sticking my head (of frizzy hair) out. All I could see were the tops of trees and the clouds. Pardon me for being a little jumpy about noisy things flying overhead, but next week is the anniversary of a horrible day, and afterwards the skies over Brooklyn were swarming with all manner of noisy planes and helicopters, setting teeth on edge and making us even more jumpy.

Anniversaries bring back memories. Memories, whatever they are, are also vibrations. It is what it is. Be Here Now. Let It Be. Go With The Flow. See, mastering my unwillingness to face certain kinds of weather may seem a small thing, but it’s all about allowing. Being ONE with what is. And stopping being angry over what is. This doesn’t mean I don’t want to effect change, because I do. I just want to go about it in such a way as to bring in a higher vibration, not add to the anger and fear that’s already present.

Thank you for listening ~ Namaste ~




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An Artistic Recovery

Palette 3I began a new blog today about my stay in the maternity ward, the noisy crowd constantly visiting the woman in the bed next to mine, and how it drove me to distraction. But separating my assorted bouquets into vases containing just one color each, helped soothe my frayed nerves and body. Yes. When things became too much to handle, I rearranged the flowers according to color.

I actually live near a hospital now, with the attendant florist nearby, and still turn away from the assorted bouquets on display, as for some reason they represent chaos, and certainly remind me of the chaos I felt after childbirth.

But today I was thinking about the importance of sorting, and putting things in their right place. Or in the right order. I’m not obsessive about it, but I know how I feel when I lay out my colors in the same order every time, so I never have to think about it. And I know the feeling of going into a painting and not knowing where everything goes, maybe not for a while. And how it helps to know where my colors are, how they’re always in the same place on the palette where I left them. It’s not the same thing as keeping your underwear drawer tidy or your linen cupboard neat. Not the same thing at all. Because different colors represent different energies and different feelings. They represent different vibratory rates.

So the blog I began writing started to turn into something much longer, too long I thought for a blog. And as I had recently joined Wattpad, I thought I might post the piece there. I can add another chapter too, and make it a longer story. This part is really about coming back into alignment with oneself after something as natural, yet traumatic in its own way, as having a baby.

It’s also about learning what soothed me, and gave me a sense of control in a place where I had none. Making art is a way to sort out feelings by expressing what they are. All I could do in the maternity ward was rearrange the flowers, but it seemed that was enough.

You can read the story here:


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My Paranormal

space starsOkay, so I had this incredible, out-of-this-world, mind-blowing experience that among other things told me I had to be a writer, and some years later when I finally had the courage to write about this earth-shattering experience (it only took me thirteen years), my advisor at grad school asked me if I had been psychotic!

What a come-down. Then I remembered how at the time, my neighbor from downstairs had asked me if I was on meds, meaning was I under the care of the psychiatric profession, the insinuation being that if not, then I should be. No! I said, wondering why she would think so. In actual fact, what I had gone through had been amazingly spiritual. And as such, had left me with the sense of having advanced in terms of consciousness, not retreated into some kind of la-la land. My head had never been more clear, my self-awareness and awareness of others never more great. But what I learned from the lesson at grad school was that I needed to improve my writing skills so that I would come across as completely sane.

Well, now I have improved my writing skills, I know that to many people I will still come across as having been off the wall. But at least with a full-length memoir instead of an isolated chapter handed in, there will be a lead up to the events. A cognizant account written by a grounded person with a back story. It will be this foundation of a back story that will give the account its validity.

The events of which I speak occurred back in the late 1980s when the general public was still marveling over the phenomenon of answering machines, VCR players and cable television. There were no chat rooms or message boards in which to find kindred spirits and share stories, let alone Blog Talk Radio where anytime, anywhere, you could jump into a conversation or listen to a topic being discussed that hit upon your mishegoss exactly. (Mishegoss—Yiddish for crazy or senseless activity or behavior; craziness.)

So far this lead-in/backstory is over three-hundred and fifty pages with still a ways to go before I get to the summer of 1987. And this is already Volume Two of my memoir, The Nancy Who Drew. But now there will be a rationale behind the events. The tale of a journey that led up to a certain time and place where a paranormal event would be the inevitable outcome. And now, instead of trepidation, I feel excited to share my story. And it’s not just because I no longer feel I’m the only one or part of a small minority. It’s because for the past year I have been listening to a show on Blog Talk Radio called Paranormal Matters.

PleiadesThe program is broadcast from Yorkshire, England, by members of a group called Rainbow Light Foundation. I’ve really come to appreciate that last word, Foundation. With Rainbow Light it means a ‘non-profit’, non-denominational organization, “dedicated to promoting greater understanding of the soul sciences; the links between body, mind and consciousness.” The other meaning for a foundation is, “an underlying basis or principle for something.”

It’s that underlying basis or foundation that is so important for the reader to have in order to find one’s story believable, no matter what the subject matter, but especially when delving into the unknown, borderline areas of perception. And especially now, when the walls between worlds are thinning. 

Listening regularly to the stories on Paranormal Matters (@Paranorm_Radio) has had a cumulative effect on me. Paranormal experiences are those “outside the range of normal experience or scientific explanation,” or outside “science’s current ability to explain or measure.” And this is exactly how the radio show defines itself, as Freeing the mind from the prison of human perception. I represent a case (which I’m sure is not uncommon) of a person whose mind has been freed, but has lacked a solid basis (foundation) on which to draw from. And without that, my poor little freed mind had a tendency at times to spin off into its own realm.

But there’s listening and there’s writing, and then there’s this thing called doing. Last spring I took the Foundation Level course at The Academy of Spiritual Sciences in their Quantum Light Programme, and earned a practitioner’s certificate in energy alignment. While it answered a lot of questions for me, it also created a whole lot more.

That, however, is by-the-by. The main reason I wanted to write this blog is because word has gotten out that we are multi-dimensional beings living in a world of vibrations. And alongside all the nastiness and the suffering, another world is opening up to us. We’ve known for a long time that the transition was going to be bumpy. And the importance of hanging out with those who uplift and add to our understanding. We are brave souls. And I for one, feel more brave the more I trust what I know and trust what I feel.

Brooklyn RainbowA trust that has grown and developed as I’ve listened to Paranormal Matters Radio. Which is why I’m the Admin for the Rainbow Light Forum, where you will find I am called Brooklyn Rainbow. Feel free to check it out and ask your questions.    


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The Dancer and the Dance

I am a medical student, dissecting the body of the past. I cut, not into the flesh and bone of 3D life, but into the subtle body, the energetic psychic body swollen with memories. I watch it bleed. Then I prick it some more. Till all the anger and shame, the bitterness, runs out. And what remains is the dancer, and the dance.

It’s why I love writing memoir. Most people wouldn’t want to keep rehashing difficult or painful episodes from the past. But with each successive draft I am bringing in more light. Transforming the experience into something grand. Without changing a single fact.

Transformance by Nancy Wait (oil on canvas) 1980s

Transformance by Nancy Wait (oil on canvas) 1980s

(Prints/cards available at Fine Art America)
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Wounds of the Soul

Painting by Nancy Wait, early 1980s

Painting by Nancy Wait, early 1980s

Wounds of the Soul – the Body Remembers, is the title of a show on Blog Talk Radio by Paranormal Matters. LINK.  It aired live on July 14th but I wasn’t able to listen then because I was talking about the X in Extra-Sensory on another show, The Healing Fountain. The X has to do with feeling on an energetic level. The sort that gets blocked when we experience the kind of wounding that leaves us feeling powerless and betrayed. Our self-worth plummets. Even if we change our location, our circumstances, we suffer the kind of post-traumatic stress that destroys future relationships and often leads to addictions and self-destructive behaviors.

What I didn’t understand until recently, when I began listening to Paranormal Matters with hosts Jennifer Warters and Carol Lamb of Rainbow Light Foundation, and then when I took the Foundation Course in Quantum Light Healing, was how what is known as the subtle energy body, was affected, causing imbalance and illness in the physical body. Because of what they refer to as an “energetic imprint” in the electromagnetic field, which underlies the conditions.

Thinking in terms of an “energy field,” one that I live in and am constantly projecting, it is no wonder how often in my early adulthood I was attracted to similar types of the treatment I had been forcibly subjected to in my youth.

Studying art in my late twenties put me on the path to healing, because it was only then that I began to differentiate between an inner and an outer life, and to see that I could access this inner life through pictures. On the radio show Carol spoke of how the closing off of the throat due to shame and fear is usually one of the immediate results from childhood abuse. With talking therapies I had either run amok or bowed out early on, and had lost all belief in its effectiveness.

Girl with Fish Bowl, by Nancy Wait; oil on canvas (1982)

Girl with Fish Bowl, by Nancy Wait; oil on canvas (1982)

The breakthrough of my “pictorial” voice came when at last I gathered up the courage to paint from my imagination. I told myself it didn’t have to be brilliant as long as it was real and the feeling behind it was a true one. What emerged then was a series of pictures representing my disassociation from myself. Which was exactly what Carol Lamb described on her show, the disconnection between mind and body, body and emotions, resulting from trauma to the soul. One of my first pictures shows a young girl and a fish bowl filled with colorful fish swimming around (seemingly happily) while she looks on in despair. I knew somehow that I was “outside” of where I wanted to be.

"Mask" by Nancy Wait; oil on canvas (1982)

“Mask” by Nancy Wait; oil on canvas (1982)

I also knew that I was hiding behind a mask, not necessarily pretending to be someone I was not, but not being entirely true to who I was, either. My throat was still blocked. Masks serve a purpose, and this one seems more like a lighted torch, perhaps lighting the way. (A mask of the Soul?) It was an enormous benefit not only to put these feelings “out there,” thus giving them validation, but to realize I was creating a visual narrative of the journey I had embarked upon. Putting myself inside a story was another point of validation.

"Sinking" by Nancy Wait; oil on canvas (1982)

“Sinking” by Nancy Wait; oil on canvas (1982)

The next painting, or should I say the next step, was to sink beneath the waves, or perhaps tune into those particular “frequency” waves of the “see” of the subconscious. Lower myself into the depths, in order to recover the lost self. The disconnected self. The body I had fled from so as not to feel it, even though that body was my own. My underwater journey which lasted five years and produced scores of paintings, came to an end when at last I came upon the jewel I hadn’t consciously known I was seeking. The child-self I had left behind, pretending she was drowned at the bottom of a pool. (For more on that please see last week’s post: Seeing Myself As A Soul)

The body remembers. No matter how much we would prefer not to. I highly recommend the programs on Paranormal Matters. I administer the Rainbow Light Forum, which as well as listing the shows, is a place where you can ask your questions and make comments.

Looking back on my visual outpourings, I think my greatest achievement was finding beauty in the ugliness. An expression of beauty even in the despair. It matters. And so does practicing the Emerald Alignment, the meditation presented at the end of each show.


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Seeing Myself As A Soul

Girl Under Water (edited) oil on canvas by Nancy Wait 1987

Girl Under Water (edited) oil on canvas by Nancy Wait 1987

My story? It’s sad! There were some wins, but the losses outweighed them. Until the end. Except this is only the first book. The second book is about resolving it all. It’s the part where I become a painter and create Girl Under Water. This was the painting that eventually solved the mystery.
The mystery was, why did it have to happen the way that it did?

Just like in most mysteries, there was a crime.
It happened during a time of mass killings, the worst in the history of mankind. World War II. The particular person I am concerned with was just one of millions who were slaughtered, but it doesn’t make it any less sad or tragic, being one among so many.
My book is about solving a mystery. The mystery here is not about who did it. We know who did it. The girl killed during World War II, and the betrayal I went through when I was in my teens. Who did these things was never in doubt. The mystery is not about catching anyone either. No one is going to get caught. The mystery, my mystery, is why. Why did it have to happen?

I’ve heard some New Age people say don’t look for reasons. You’ll get all caught up in your head. Eventually, I solved the mystery with my heart. I found resolution through forgiveness and understanding.

The Nancy Who DrewYet forgiveness is not the end of the story. Because if you believe that you “create your own reality,” why would you create a situation that would cause you harm? That would leave you damaged? Eventually I had to come to terms with the fact that there was nothing to forgive, after all. I had to come into full Soul Consciousness, seeing myself as a Soul. A soul that might choose a certain scenario in order to progress and learn—and eventually share what she had learned.

What I learned was why I chose, as a Soul, the circumstances of my life. And what I want to share is that there is a reason for everything. All we have to do is find it. Or create it. In Book One, “The Memoir That Solved A Mystery,” I lay out the mystery. Now, in Book Two, currently in progress, I’m describing how I got beyond myself. How I let go, and how I let go through Art. Through painting. Expressing feelings I could not express any other way. If the first book was sad, I hope the second will be inspiring.

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