by Karen Frazier, Managing Editor
Paranormal Underground Magazine

I must admit – I’m torn between an angry rant and a lift you up “what I’ve learned from life” blog today. The angry rant is about the medical establishment. The “what I’ve learned from life” blog is about a rather recent realization I had.

Bah – I’m feeling pretty good today. Maybe I’ll save the angry rant for the next time I’m intensely craving chocolate and Jim and the kids are bunkered down in a bedroom somewhere avoiding the crazy beyatch who has taken over their wife/mother.

I’m just emerging from a deep blue funk. While it may seem like a minor problem to many who are struggling with their very survival during the holidays in a bad economy, the demise of our little documentary really sent me into a tailspin. Within the drama that surrounded it were elements of betrayal, loss of people I considered friends, and a deep, deep sense of loss. I poured my creative heart and soul into the project and showered it with all of the love and passion inside of me. To go from working pedal to the metal on it and being completely absorbed by it creatively to having it just disappear from my life threw me off of my game. In a big way. I grieved for our creation.

Its one of the reasons I haven’t been blogging much. I’ve been blocked. I haven’t been able to find a single thing inside of me that wanted to come out. This is unusual for me, since I am usually brimming with ideas that burst out of me. Books that want to be born. Poetry. Documentary and television show ideas. Blogs. These are the things that typically vie for my attention in my very crowded mind. It leads to me being insanely productive. I’m always creating something.

But, since the week before Thanksgiving – nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Nothing. Writing a blog was an effort. I couldn’t stomach the thought of working on any of my projects. Not the book I’ve been working on. Not the novel I’ve been writing. Not the poetry. Not even the stuff that pays the bills. I would pull up one of my projects and just sit and stare at the page. The words that were already there mocked me. “Look what you used to be able to do,” they said. The more I tried to force it, the worse it became. Typically I’d give up after about an hour and turn on the TV or pick up a book. Or just sit and stare into space.

Oh yes – I’ve been a joy.

Really – the uplifting part is coming. I promise.

From the time I was a child, words have flowed out of me like water. So to be without them was a little bit disconcerting, to say the least.

Last night was a beautiful, crisp, clear night. The temperature was in the teens, and the sky was one of those clear winter star-filled skies that can take your breath away. I found myself looking at the sky and wishing that I wished on stars. What would I wish, I wondered, and I knew. I would wish that there was something that enraptured me so much that my creative muse would come alive again. Even though she’d only been gone for a few weeks, I missed her terribly.

I am a bed time thinker. Each night after the lights go out, I lie in bed and think myself to sleep. Sometimes it takes longer than others. It is in this dark and safe space that I often am able to work through some of my greatest fears and worries. Last night, I found my mind wandering once again to this new emptiness that had become my companion. My wish came to mind – and with it came incredible clarity.

I wish I could be excited about something again, whispered the victim inside of me. And then I knew.

All of my life, I have looked at the world to see what I could get out of it. Everything I’ve done throughout my life – every choice I’ve made – has been made with the unspoken thought, “How will I be rewarded for this?” In some cases, the expected rewards have been material or financial. In other cases, the anticipated rewards have been more subtle. Approval. Love. Excitement. Fun.

This has always been my unrecognized approach to life. Every move I make is made in anticipation of what I receive from it. Well – almost all of them.

Two years ago on my birthday (December 3), our community was decimated by some of the worst flooding it has ever seen. More than 2000 homes and 800 businesses were destroyed. That night, Jim, Tanner and I sat safe and dry in our home on the hill and watched out our front window as helicopters dropped flood victims rescued from the roofs of their houses onto the football field down below us. It was devastating. For the next six weeks, I dropped everything and spent all of my time working at a United Way center that provided supplies for the flood victims. Food, clothing, shelter, personal hygiene items and more. It was heart wrenching, painful work. I came home every night and cried. And yet – I had never felt more alive.

This was work I did with no thought of reward. I did it because I was called to do it. One look into the aching eyes of the wounded souls who poured through that center every day told me all I needed to know. I was in the right place doing exactly what I should be doing in that moment. It may be the only time in my life that I went where I was called without thinking about what I might get out of it.

Back to my epiphany. Suddenly I realized that my approach has been wrong all of this time. It isn’t about what I can get out of something. It isn’t about the reward. It is about what I can put into it. Instead of doing something and expecting to be rewarded for it, I want to do something because it is where I am led and because it is what I am supposed to be doing. Instead of having the universe do for me, I want to do for the universe.

I have been given certain skills and gifts. They have always been employed in anticipation of some type of reward – whether it is recognition, love or something more material. Very seldom have they been merely to be “of service”. Very seldom has it been about what I can put back into a universe that has rewarded me so richly throughout my life.

The distinction is a subtle one, I know. Until last night, it isn’t even one that I realized existed. It is the difference between seeing what I can get out of the universe and knowing what I can put back into it. It is trusting that I can follow my own internal guidance system to go exactly where I can most be “of service” and trusting that if it is truly what I am supposed to be doing, then the means will be made possible for me to do that.

I believe the term is “surrender.” I’ve had many people tell me of surrender over the years. And I’ve nodded sagely and said, “Ah yes – surrender,” but inside, I’ve fought it with every fiber of my being. Surrender? HA! I’ll never give in. I am the captain of my ship. I am in control of my life.

And yet – am I, really? My attempts at control may have rewarded me in the ways I was seeking. Money. Things. Approval. Love. To some extent. But those things are inauthentic, I think. And so now I am saying something new to the universe.

“I am here. I have gifts and talents that I have been given. Lead me to the ways that I can best be of service. Provide the means for me to give because it is what I am meant to do rather than giving with the hope of receiving. Take me where I need to go to use my gifts for the greatest good.”

In the end, that which I fought for so long may wind up being my greatest source of empowerment. Last night before I went to sleep, I surrendered. This morning, I awoke to a new project offer in my inbox that excited me. I got up, sat down at my computer and the faucet turned on. The words are flowing. The world seems bright and shiny again. I feel peace. All of my life, I saw surrender as a bad thing. In the end, it turns out that it might be the very thing that saves me.

Enjoy reading Karen’s blog? Her new book, Avalanche of Spirits: The Ghosts of Wellington> is now available. Click here to buy.