Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

The Angle

Americans are going through a big shift today. What are the odds that the Bohemian is en route to the offices of US Homeland Security this morning, where they will fingerprint him as part of protocol? It’s standard procedure in the process he’s in, naturalizing as a US Citizen on Inauguration Day.

This photo of me was taken in Prague, Czech Republic, the Bohemian’s native land. He had to stand in just the right place, see things from just the right angle, in order to be able to capture the stretch of possibility behind me.

Perhaps the whole world is a house of mirrors. Reflections abound, and we get to choose our angle. We decide how we want to perceive what’s before us.

I choose the corridor of infinite potential. A pathway to all things good and true. A world elevating each other in love. Humanity dreaming its biggest dreams.

That’s my angle.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Super Love

The following piece is a vulnerable sharing of where I’ve been this past year in mind, body, spirit. It will remain posted as an “Offering” titled SUPERFOODS on the home page here on the Archives. I am so grateful for all those following the Archives, and the time felt right to tune in and express where I’ve been and where I’m now going…Wishing healthy abundance to each and everyone of you!

This whole WordPress experiment began seven years ago when I started blogging as a single mother of a six-year old, posting nearly every day. At the time, the blog was both my challenge and my lifeline. Never did I imagine after my 40 day commitment that I would still be here, years later, typing out words to the ether.

For those that have followed the Archives over the years (thank you for your time and encouragement!), you may have noticed that posts from me have significantly dwindled as of late.

Currently, Jeb’s officially a teenager (with the ability to forge agreements not to divulge all of those personal mom-stories anymore). And four years ago I married the Bohemian, bringing a love into my life that I had dared to imagine, but wondered if I’d ever truly find.

Nowadays, Jeb does his own laundry and takes solo bus trips around town. I live with the love of my life in a house in the country. Last year we welcomed a dog into the picture, the sweetest Labrador I’ve ever known. We are healthy and living in Hawaii. I’ve come a long way from the days of raising a toddler in a converted barn with a hot plate, a John Deere tractor, and an empty refrigerator.

I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ll confess that at the end of 2016 I was left to really look at myself and see that despite all of the gifts threading my life, there was something deep within that was unhappy. There was nothing specific that I could pinpoint as the cause, there was just a low-level hum of angst that reverberated at the baseline of my everyday.

This dissatisfaction was made manifest in many ways. I withdrew from friends, hunkering down like a hermit, opting out of social gatherings. I lost inspiration in my art, writing less and rarely taking photographs. I became more impatient, hearing the edge in my voice with my son and husband over small household issues. As I watched myself souring to the nectar of life, I added insult to injury by looping critical, self-judgements in my head. Had I just become some post-40 year old woman with too many creature comforts to appreciate? Had I fallen into the realm of having luxurious “problems”? I judged myself for judging myself, and felt helpless to stop the negativity. I felt ashamed to be struggling when I knew there were others in the world with life and death predicaments, real problems. I believed I should be happy and felt guilty that I wasn’t.

As 2016 came to a close I dug deeper. It felt like the whole world was suffering through massive changes and I was powerless to affect anything. I sought my own quiet space within and earnestly asked how I could help. The answer that came was to make it better with myself. It made sense that if I was in a clear and balanced place, then I would be in finer form to contribute to the whole. Yet I wondered how to make things better for myself. I’d been struggling with this for years and hadn’t made any headway.

The Bohemian and I booked an impromptu session at the local spa to celebrate our four-year wedding anniversary. As I sat in the mist of the steam room, sweating out the funk of 2016, I welcomed in the new. I asked for more guidance. How could I help myself?

I guess I expected a directive that would be philosophical in nature. Something broad-reaching and poetically profound. But what beamed through the haze of that tiled closet of steam was something much more practical and utterly clear: change what you’re eating.

The guidance was surprising, but so apparent that I didn’t question it. Changing what I ate was something that I could certainly affect. I wasn’t sure how much of a difference it would make to the world, but if my coming in to balance was to start with food, then that was a small step I was willing to try.

What followed was a connection with a long-time friend, who had been regularly posting on Facebook about the transformative results of ingesting superfoods. She claimed they had radically changed her life, not only in her physical health, but in her mental and spiritual realms, as well. I was skeptical that some powder and tablets could help me anymore than the organic fruits and vegetables I was regularly consuming, but dedicated to following the direction from my steam-room request, I agreed to try the superfoods for 10 days.

What transpired is the basis of inspiration for this post. I’m finally articulating the dis-ease I’ve been experiencing over the last few years. This is a cathartic measure. And I’m celebrating the beauty of such a simple step that transformed everything in my reality. When I incorporated those potent, high-density, organic, non-gmo, superfoods into my body, my cells changed. My body changed. I lost eight pounds and gained muscle tone. My mind became clear. I was inspired. Errands in the world became opportunities to share connection with friends and strangers. My work was easier, as I no longer felt exhausted mid-day, but instead, experienced a consistent energy that sustained until bedtime. My patience with my family was markedly improved. The negative jabs towards myself in my mind, had been replaced with compassion and encouragement. I looked in the mirror and saw my true self. I was home again.

I know it may sound radical, or even hard to believe. That by flooding my body with phyto-nutrients, I could affect change on every level of my being in such a short time. But this is what happened. And the Bohemian noticed. The shift was so evident that he started sampling my goods. He’d long been struggling with a dullness in his days. Uninspired by work, and overtaxed, he was left exhausted by the end of the day, and feeling stuck in a habitrail of routine, going nowhere. His body was constantly sore, and the structural integration and acupuncture treatments he’d been trying were not eliminating the discomfort.

After three days of sharing my superfoods, my husband was whistling around the house again. That old tune from our early days together, “When the Saints Come Marching In,” was now coming through between smiles as he washed dishes at the kitchen sink. As we were lighter, Jeb noticed too. He began mixing up his superfoods power shake before school every morning, telling me that he felt healthier.

It’s been about 40 days since all of this began. We’ve incorporated the superfoods into our daily routine, and we are experiencing a potent shift. In this 40 day period I have been resetting my metabolism and bringing my body back in balance. The Bohemian is newly inspired, full of energy, whistling and planting trees. Jeb’s learning about what it feels like to put real nourishment into his body. We’re still a family finding our way, but our home reverberates with greater harmony and ease.

I didn’t think that change could be this simple. Superfoods may not solve every challenge life brings, but they offer a foundation of wellness that can assist in facing any problem we may have. Life is better when I put these potent, high quality, phyto-nutrients in my body. These tools have been so powerful for me I want to share them with anyone that is looking for a change.

Contact me, and I’ll tell you all I know. I’ll point you down the path where you can learn more. I’ll help you get the superfoods delivered to your door.

Never did I think that I’d be writing a blog post about this. But then again, I didn’t imagine after my initial 40 days of typing out some words on single motherhood, that I’d still be here in the Archives and sharing.

Lao Tzu said, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” I encourage you to take your step. Let it lead you in the direction of your heart’s beckoning.

May we all be well and living our dreams.

#itstartswith10days

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

My Movie

no-enemy

Preface
Being someone who ‘fasts’ from the news for months at a time, I’ve found myself surprisingly “hooked” by recent US election news events, particularly as headlines are giving voice to women and their experiences with sexual assault. I’ve wanted to add my words, but have been challenged in knowing what exactly would be beneficial to contribute. Further, I questioned whether the Archives was an appropriate forum for any writing I could muster on the subject.

Then last week, a simple errand turned profound.

The premise of For the Archives is to seek the profound in the mundane, a space to chronicle the everyday. With this as my compass, I’ve deemed it a fine place to share my report of one morning’s event.

I feel compelled to qualify this piece by saying that I am only speaking to my own experience. Each of us has our own. I am not offering answers or solutions, rather I am attempting to reveal myself in a process of inquiry. My greatest hope would be that by doing so, readers may somehow be able to glean something of use for themselves.

I understand that the account I share here is a mild example in a spectrum of violent acts we humans have the capacity to perpetuate upon each other.

In regards to Ho’oponopono, I am only scratching the surface of learning about this practice, and though I’ve done my best here to summarize its basic philosophy, everything I share is through the filter of my current understanding. To learn more, go to the source at www.hooponopono.org.
“I operate my life and my relationships according to the following insights:
The physical universe is an actualization of my thoughts.
If my thoughts are cancerous, they create a cancerous physical reality.
If my thoughts are perfect, they create a physical reality brimming with LOVE.
I am 100 percent responsible for creating my physical universe the way it is.
I am 100 percent responsible for correcting the cancerous thoughts that create a diseased reality. There is no such thing as out there. Everything exists as thoughts in my mind.”

~Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len

 

I park my car at the library, drop off a few borrowed books, and decide to walk to the bank a few blocks away. It’s a day that doesn’t have a strict timeline, so why not stroll my way through some errands? I cut through the church parking lot, where a feral hen and her clutch of fluffy chicks peck and chirp.

I’ve been practicing mindfulness with more focus these last days. My husband (aka “the Bohemian”) and I have been learning about the ancient Hawaiian practice of Ho’oponopono. Utterly simple, yet almost too complex to explain, I’ve been working with a few basic principles, hoping to better understand through implementing them.

In a nutshell, a modernized version of Ho’oponopono (adapted by Morrnah Nalamaku Simeona and further taught by Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len), suggests that we are 100% responsible for everything that occurs in our lives. Our world, our ‘reality,’ is our creation, and everything offers an opportunity to heal. With any and all things, one can simply ‘clear’ a problem or situation by saying “I love you” and “thank you.” Using this approach, Dr. Hew Len was able to rehabilitate an entire ward of mentally ill criminals, and the facility eventually closed altogether.

I am only learning. In this walk to the bank, I step into sunlight and am grateful that I notice how it shines warmly on my skin. I feel thankful that I have the time to walk. I pass the local YWCA building and read the bright orange letters on its outside wall: “Eliminating Racism, Empowering Women.”

I follow the cross walk, nearing the bank. Beside me, a Toyota pick up truck pulls over to the curb, stopping right in front of the yellow fire hydrant that is next to me. I think this is odd. It’s illegal to park at a hydrant, and there is plenty of other empty curb space. I glance to the truck, see the passenger window down and a young man in his early twenties, leans over from the driver’s seat to speak to me.

Maybe he says something like “Hey,” some remark trying to get my attention. And I give it, but hesitantly.

Granted, I live on a Hawaiian island with a population of about 65,000, and the “city” in which I’m walking through has only about 7,000 inhabitants. We’re talking about a small town. A small, relatively, “safe” town. Yet, instinctually, I stand far back from the cab of this truck, uncertain of the driver’s intent.

He’s got straight black hair, cut short and parted on the side. The top sticks straight out, like the hairdo of a Japanese anime character. His round, full face is a “local” mix of possibly Japanese, Hawaiian, and/or, maybe, Filipino.

His words come out like he’s asking for a fundraising donation. Earnest and slightly sheepish.

“Will you hook up with me?”

It takes me a minute to process his question. He’s talking to me in the vernacular of a college keg party. I am confused.

A multitude of emotions must have spread across my face as I pause just long enough to hear him follow his solicitation with an oddly polite, “Please?”

I instantly walk away from the truck, noticing my mouth has formed a smile, and despite myself, a half chuckle is escaping my lips. I wonder at my laughter because I don’t feel humored. Is it engrained in me to laugh off such a remark, even if it doesn’t feel funny? Maybe this is nervous laughter.

I walk up the stairs to the bank, he pulls away, and I step inside.

Once inside, I pause for a moment at the podium made for speedy deposits. I feel like crying. Current election news stories flood my mind. This is exactly what women are talking about, I think to myself. Anger seeps through my chest.

I take a few deep breaths, then head to the teller line at nearly the same moment as another man. He too, is in his early twenties. He looks at me and sweeps his arm out ahead of himself in a gentleman’s offer to go before him. I smile and say, “No, you go. But thank you.” I take note. There are kind men in the world.

When it’s my turn, I am called to the bank teller by the window that looks out on to the street where I’ve been walking. My transaction involves stopping payment on a lost check. The teller is young and new, and the process takes at least 15 minutes, as she gets step-by-step instructions from her supervisor over the phone.

As I wait, I digest the feelings coursing through my nervous system. I wonder if I should tell someone at the bank that a creepy guy propositioned me in front of their place of business. I don’t want to overreact, and it seems like a fairly extreme measure for me to take. But then, through the window, I see a truck that looks just like the creepy guy’s drive by in front of the bank. This time the tinted windows are rolled up and I can only make out the shadowy outline of the driver’s head. The pointy hairstyle seems similar, but I can’t be sure.

I quickly move my eyes to the license plate number. If the truck drives by again, then I’ll certainly be suspicious.

The teller continues on the phone, navigating through the computer system with my transaction. I keep watch on the street through the window. Within a few minutes, the same truck drives by, this time going the opposite direction. The license plate is the same.

I write the license plate number on my deposit envelope in front of me. Still not wanting to jump to conclusions, I decide to wait and see if the truck will pass again. On this uneventful side street, mostly housing government buildings, it is unlikely that a car would be driving back and forth unless the driver were lost…or trolling. A few more minutes pass as the teller sifts through a file cabinet searching for correct forms.

I continue keeping my eye on the street through the window, and sure enough, the same truck, same license plate, drives back in front of the bank again. Ok, so that was at least three passes. My heart beats in my chest. The teller apologizes for the wait and assures me we are almost done. I think to say something to her about the truck, but don’t.

Instead, I smile. “It’s fine.”

I consider telling a bank supervisor. These thoughts come as some sort of tactic of self-preservation, knowing I will have to walk back to my car, and I want someone to be aware of my potential situation. I think to tell the police, but the scenario doesn’t seem dire enough to involve them. At least I don’t think it is. Or at least I hope it isn’t.

Part of my bank mission was to make a significant cash withdrawal, but now I will not be walking on the street with money in my purse. I put the final signature on the stop-payment form, and when the teller asks me if there is anything else she can help me with, I say, “No. That’s all for today. Thank you.”

I scan the bank lobby. See the empty couches and one desk with a supervisor speaking to a middle-aged woman and another elderly lady in a green muumuu. No need to tell them my story.

I reach in my purse for my phone, thinking of it as my one potential weapon. With it, I can dial 911, I can take a photo, or I can call my husband.

You see, I’m sharing all of this in an attempt to illustrate what can happen when a man makes non-consensual, sexual advances. It puts a person on guard. It makes one wonder if they are safe.

I am not a paranoid person. I traveled alone for years in my twenties throughout North America, India and Nepal. I’ve made long-time friendships with strangers I met on my journeys, men and women. I believe that, overall, the world is a safe place, filled with kind-hearted, well-intentioned people. For the most part, through most of my life, this has been my experience.

Yet, on this morning, when I step back out of the bank and see a Toyota truck driving in my direction, I move to a far corner, my phone in hand, wanting to hide, but feeling unavoidably seen. I am relieved to see the license plate does not match the one I’ve been tracking, and it isn’t the truck belonging to that creepy guy.

I come out of the corner and decide to call my husband. We talk as I walk the few blocks back toward my car. It helps to be able to share what has just transpired. It also serves as a pseudo safety net, in the instance that the creepy guy actually does drive by again, I’ll have someone on the phone to hear it.

I am a little rattled, but not completely overwhelmed. It helps to hear the Bohemian’s voice in my ear. The irony of my situation has not escaped me.

“I know, this is my movie, right?” I ask him.

“Yes, Jess, this is your movie.”

“And I know I’ve been pouring over all of these news stories about Trump’s history of sexual assaults…it’s surprised me how much it’s all gotten to me.”

“Yup.”

“And this is exactly what so many women are speaking out about in response to these allegations against him. This world that we live in, and how women have to deal with this kind of thing so often…”

The Bohemian, steady as usual, just listens. “Uh huh.”

“I mean, I notice that I feel compelled to say that I’m wearing a pair of baggy shorts, some flip-flops, and a long sleeve shirt. But then I think it’s outrageous that I would feel a need to qualify my outfit…like it’s some sort of defense as to why there was no ‘reason’ for this guy to approach me like that. Or that I’m 43 years-old for goodness sake, I could be his mother.”

“True…”

“But it’s not about any of that. I don’t even know if it’s about attraction, or about sex at all. I’m just some woman walking down the street. It doesn’t matter a bit what I look like, how old I am, what I’m wearing…It’s about him. About doing what he knows he shouldn’t, and seeing if he can get away with it. Some individual that has some sort of sexual addiction or disfunction…he’s getting excited by the thrill of pulling over and daring to ask me such a question. That’s his rush. I mean, I suppose I’m only assuming. I don’t know what that creepy guy was thinking, really…”

“No, you don’t.”

“All I know is that now I feel uncertain. Like I don’t know how “creepy” he is. Is it safe to be walking down this street alone? Am I in real danger? This is what people are talking about in news stories…how unnerving it can be…. And confusing…”

At the final street before the library an older man and I cross each other at the corner. Even though I’m on the phone, he smiles kindly as we pass.

“Ok, I’m almost to my car, and I haven’t seen his truck at all. I think I’m good.”

“Ok. Good.”

“Now I’m going to go to the grocery store. Do you need anything?”

“You know. The usual.”

“Right. Ok. Well, thanks for talking. That was weird.”

“You’re welcome.”

I laugh. “Yeah, interesting movie…’I love you. Thank you’…Hmmm…”

“I love you. Thank you.”

“Ok, bye.”

“Bye.”

And that’s it. Moving on. Next. Just like so many women, every hour, every day. Absorbing looks, words, threats, and worse, then dusting off, and moving on to the day’s demands at hand.

This incident with the creepy guy has not scarred me for life. I will be fine. But just as the latest news of sexual misconduct of a presidential nominee has incensed me, this street-side spook has angered me as well. And both instances have unpleasantly reminded me of my own history of experiences dealing with inappropriate actions from men.

The bitter part of me feels like the scene is such an (absurdly horrible) cliché, I want to rebel and say, “Whatever! Don’t give it any energy. Move on!” But I can’t deny another part of me, rooted deep and ancient. More than ‘me’, or ‘my’ story. Something inside that boils in a burning rage.

I go back to the tenets of the Ho’oponopono practice I’ve been studying. Contemplate the concept of being 100% responsible for my reality. It’s not about blaming the victim. I’m simply looking at liberation from ever being a victim. It’s so radical, I can barely comprehend the idea. But if I let myself dip a toe in the pool of pure responsibility for my life, I can feel such a freedom of relief. Emancipation from ever having to blame again.

“Will you hook up with me?”

Am I getting hooked in the tangle of emotions surfacing in this episode?

Could it be that every single situation holds an opportunity to say, “I love you. Thank you?” Can I reflect on the creepy guy scenario and see it as something that is bringing a need for healing to my attention?

Can I let go to fully understanding the situation at all? Can I accept not knowing the why or how, and release any analysis?

Am I capable of simply observing, and clearing it all with love and forgiveness? Isn’t this how I take it back and own it? Make it my movie.

I’m not suggesting burying feelings. I’m not talking about sugar-coating. I am aware that I have some big emotions tied up in this scenario. So perhaps I may not even be able to execute this ideal right now. But as I allow the feelings to arise, I can continue to say “thank you” to them as they (hopefully) clear through.

As an artist, I see the world in metaphors. There’s something just too peculiar about this recent living-movie scene, not to take a step back and view it in an alternative light. How can it serve a purpose? And what kind of script do I want to continue writing?

This experience has been a challenge to articulate because I cannot finalize it into any easy take-away. I’m left with raw emotion, and plenty of “I don’t know’s.” Spiritual masters say not knowing means you’re on the right path. Is that true? I don’t know. But I do know I’m grateful for the written word, and I feel admiration for all of the courageous women who are using their words to share their stories.

This is just my movie. Still in production.
“When you do Ho’oponopono, what happens is that the Divinity takes the painful thought and neutralizes or purifies it. You don’t purify the person, place, or thing. You neutralize the energy you associate with that person, place, or thing. So the first stage is the purification of that energy. Not only does that energy get neutralized; it also gets released, so there’s a brand-new slate (Zero). Buddhists call it the Void. The final step is that you allow the Divinity or Infinite to fill the void with light. To do Ho’oponopono, you don’t have to know what the problem or error is. All you have to do is notice any problem you are experiencing physically, mentally, or emotionally. Once you notice, your responsibility is to immediately begin to clean, to say, ‘I’m sorry, Please forgive me, or Thank You, I Love you.’”

~Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len