Woozie Boozie!

Not woozy boozy (long oo’s)—your state after too much to drink. My birth mother Helen coined this cute expression. It’s pronounced woojee boojee (short oo’s, as in the word wood). Mind you, this is the same mother who told me I did not inherit any of my word fun and pun tendencies from her.

Woozie boozie is sort of an adult kitchy-kitchy-coo. It’s something to say when a friend or loved one does something adorable or needs support. It’s ooey gooey love without the tickle under the chin. It says, “You’re so cute,” or “Let me support you, hug you.”

There is no reason to stop this kind of verbal syrupiness just because a person grows up. It doesn’t matter what you call it or how you do it; adults need motherly little there-there’s and cheek pinches from their friends and families, too. Of course, not everyone can stand that much mushiness, certainly not my cats who run off when I woozie them once too many.

Helen signed all her letters with xo’s and WBs for woozie boozie. It has become an family in-joke. We woozie everything, and when Helen died, I got her closest friend, brother, and my husband and I glass heart ornaments for our Christmas trees engraved Woozie Boozie. A world without Helen was bad enough, but a world without woozies is not a place I want to live

Terms of endearment come naturally to me. I have to restrain myself not to call friends honey, dear, and sweetie. Some don’t mind and do it themselves; other’s react a little like my cats or at least a sour puss when I call them “names.”

Pet names, secret phrases—they are one of the charms of love in all its forms. When I was growing up, my adoptive parents called me Punkin—never Pumpkin with the second P. I think we tend to become what we’re called and constantly affirmed, as I was definitely their pun kin, the way I play with words unmercifully. If you become what you’re called, you’d think my sweetest endearments would be grabbed like the last dollar before payday.

Here’s some homeplay (the opposite of homework). What were your nicknames or favorite love words over the years? For a while my sister called me Jobie. Lots of people call me Joycie. I have a crazy affection for hon. (I still have an urge to name an especially docile dog Attila the Hon.)

How have these names and labels influenced you? And how about your nicknames and love words for others? Flash back and forward again with some cool insights.

Have fun with it!

xoxoWBs,
Joyce

Believe Everything You Hear

Last time we talked about two simple tips to begin expanding your intuition—alone time, especially spent in meditation, and learning not to criticize your creations, thoughts, or ideas. These include strong feelings or a sense of knowing that might crop up as you develop your inner eyes and ears. Same goes for any funny little messages you might pull out of thin air.

Let me give you a couple examples. When I used to do tarot readings, using the Motherpeace round deck, I had a special way of using the cards with my clients. First, I’d ask them what images jumped out at them, while I listened carefully. Next, I’d say what jumped out at me. Only last would I consider any classical meaning of the card. Between us, we very often got a closer, more personal interpretation than “going by the book.” The blend of my stand outs and my client’s would give a profound reading of his or her subconscious. My observations often added a perspective or insights--what s/he was too close to a matter to see clearly. The cards simply pulled out the client’s inner knowing with a little help from me as interpreter. Synthesis of an experience isn’t so easy while you’re in the middle of it, especially when it involves strong emotions or complex situations and choices.

I remember one reading in particular where my client drew a card—which one I couldn’t tell you now—but as she did, the old train tune started ringing in mind, The Atchison, Topeka & the Santa Fe. The process made it mandatory for me to spill the beans on anything I “got.” I felt ridiculous telling her about this goofy song.

As we began exploring the context of her situation, it became clear that she was feeling railroaded to make an unwanted change by her love interest. So, that’s what the train song was saying! The mere realization that she felt coerced was the key to empowering her to get out of a gnarly dilemma.

Second, and most dramatic, was my intuition on where I’d find my birth mother. (Complete details of that drama will be in my second book, COMPLETE CIRCLES: More Hot Flashbacks from My Lost & Found Life.) From the beginning of my six-month search, I “knew” she was in San Francisco, only 90 miles away. In the beginning, I pooh-poohed this thought as wishful thinking. “You just want it to be convenient,” I said, talking to myself as though I were completely delusional.

By this time in my life (1986), I was tired of ignoring intuitions that turned out to be true. I figured I had nothing to lose to give it a shot. San Francisco is exactly where I found her, even though she was originally from the East Coast. I had no conscious reason to believe she would have conveniently relocated nearly next door to me. Finding her changed both our lives for the better in a big way. What I would have missed if I hadn’t listened to myself—at last?

Let me reiterate, both of these intuitive “hits” sounded ridiculous to me! Consider believing everything you hear with your inner ear, and if it seems goofy, take notes and realize you just may not have put it all together yet. These intuitive scraps are like puzzle pieces that you learn to fit together with time, trial, and error.

About once a year, I have what I consider a seminal dream—one that lays out something big that’s going to happen to me in the months to come. My dramatic dream in 2006 had a lot of symbols about being on a one-way road straight up. It was lighting up all my fears of success and the responsibilities that would go with it.

But in that dream, a Mervyn’s store was prominent. It drove me crazy for months till I finally figured out what it meant. MERVYNS turned out to be an anagram. Rescramble the letters and you get MY NERVS. I was struggling with high interocular pressure and a possible diagnosis of glaucoma.

To protect your eyesight with glaucoma, you have to lower the (interocular) pressure to avoid damage to the optic nerve. Suddenly, I saw the double entendre! To protect my vision, I had to lower the pressure. This applies to my creative vision, too, and lowering the pressure is why Mervyns—MY NERVS—was beside my road to success. I’d have to tend to my nerves, keep the pressure in my life down, if I were going to pull off this writing life and all that goes with it.

Journal everything! Dreams, crazy things you think or hear. The only way to learn your personal symbology and messages from “The Supremes” is to play with these tidbits. In one of my favorite books on the subject, Higher Creativity by Willis Harmon and Howard Rheingold, the authors pay much homage to how answers bubble up when we’re “offline”—playing, dreaming, or doing something else other than what we normally do. Something right-brained and non-linear. This works the same as the meditation and quiet time mentioned in the last post.

Of course, this is unlikely to happen with one mediation, long-distance run, or ride on the Ferris wheel. Inspiration/intuition loves repetition, even ritual, and I have a hunch this is one reason why knitting has become so popular again. Gathering that wool into a lovely creation allows for woolgathering of another kind. My own Messages from on High are so hilariously delivered, at times, they also keep me in another kind of stitches.

Let me know about your progress in amping up your intuition by slowing down your thoughts … and allowing those really helpful and life affirming mind messages to jump up and be heard.