A Baby Boomer Memoir
Perfect Bound Softcover
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Welcome to the narrative; this is an invitation to the reader: This narrative will give you the opportunity to walk alongside Melba as she grows, experiences, learns, concludes, and then Just Is.
An Invitation: Setting the Stage for Understanding this Book I find myself in this 3rd Third of life needing to make sense of it. I have seen other people who did not thrive in the 3rd Third. At some point in this next Third, I shall satisfy the biological imperative of dying, but not before satisfying my personal imperative of living a fulfilling life every day ... Prologue - Route I'm finding myself conscious of where I am, begging my attention to where I have been, where I am going ... In my1st Third, I had a connection with another spiritual place, with things no one else could see. Mum often invited ladies over for afternoon tea. Together we would host these occasions, cleaning, baking, welcoming the ladies in through the front door, inviting them to divest themselves of their coat (but never hat) and join us in the living room (never the family TV room!). My first time hosting a tea-time event was when I was 7. I had watched, listened, and learned from Mum; as usual I did not need any special invitation to jump right in. When the first lady arrived, I greeted her by name and invited her to allow me to hang her coat. I said to her (in my most ladylike hostess tones) that I admired her sparkly blues. The lady and Mum both looked askance at me. Mum reminded me that Mrs. L's dress was most definitely brown. Both women shared a glance that said, "Poor dolt of a child doesn't know her colours yet, at 7 years of age!" I was put out that they refused to see the jewel-tone-blue sparklies spinning around this beautiful lady. Next to arrive was Mrs. P. In a state of deja-vu, I did the coat-offer thing. This time I asked Mum about muddy brown sticking around Mrs. P. Mum stepped in, took over welcoming tasks, then asked me to "help her in the kitchen" using the tone that promised that the "help" was going to consist of a one-sided conversation, and that I wasn't going to be on that one side. "All right, young lady, what are you up to?" "Mum, Mrs. P has clingy muddy brown goo. Mrs. L most definitely had blue sparklies everywhere. Can't you see that? Are you sure you are even trying?" "Oh my Dolly Dear, you must never mention this to anyone. No one will ever believe that you can really see these things. If you persist, then all will shun you from the social group. They will think that I told you about Mrs. L's new baby arriving next spring and about Mrs. P's devastating diagnosis. The social rule demands no detail ever escapes the room!" From that point, I was completely quiet. If I couldn't talk about what I clearly saw, then I probably shouldn't talk about what my brothers and I had been up to yesterday while playing in the park, building a fort on public property, using the rest of Dad's lumber stores. And I better not ask for a definition of an unfamiliar word that an older boy had used on the school yard which made everyone gasp. And so talking about how colours would shoot out from the minister or the teacher while they were giving the lesson was likely out of the question, too. They likely did not want a report of what the dog threw up on the back door mat after digging up and eating an old kill brought home last week and left to ripen in the summer sun. For many years, I only thought about the coloured lights while I was ballet dancing, or piano playing classical music, or trying some new death-defying flip at gymnastics. A teacher once tore up a piece of artwork where I had included the coloured lights as part of my artistic expression. Clearly art was only about drawing what everyone could see. The colours were never mentioned again in my 1st Third. In my 2nd Third, I would suddenly realize an insight about someone. It would begin as a coloured light leaping to a conclusion about what the other person was feeling that later proved right, more often than not. This ability helped me to understand that often someone could not put feelings to words, but the floodgates would open when I found a private moment to ask them how they were doing with ...? At some point, they would give me a considering look, "Can you read my mind all the time?" My earliest experience taught me that it was intrusive to go looking into the colours of others. I would shield myself from consciously noticing, thinking I had destroyed the ability altogether. Late in my 2nd Third, my Indigo-Child had been doing some research and having some discussion about something called Reiki Energy Work, with energies similar to lights, colours, tones, and sounds. We could take lessons to learn how to ‘give Reiki' on command. She started this journey first. I joined her after we independently completed the first two training levels, completing our Masters together. At Reiki classes, we shared Energy experiences. Years after my decision to avoid the energies that are within and surround, I had finally come home to my comfortable place in the world of energy, colours, tones, and tingles. Never again shunned, nor heaped with admonishments and judgements, nor feel like there was something wrong with me. There were others like me. My path has brought me home! My 3rd Third path has returned me to Reiki, creating a ReikiCommunity, renewing and re-energizing, and opening arms to embrace others who are ready to join us. This Book, called 4/3, is a collection of stories from the Thirds showing how the understandings from each Third affect, encourage, and limit us in the present moment. Perhaps my stories and lessons will lead you to inner understandings about your own path.
Since first holding pencil tip to paper, I've been awestruck by the majyk that spills out. I am a: -child of the Universe; -free-spirit; -member of an amazing Family who understand my idiosyncrasies, grounding me whenever I spin off the earth; -retired teacher; -3rd Third dweller amidst nature; -messenger.

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