A Messy Life Musings

Bots. Bandwidth. Blah-Blah-Blah. Bots are Booting Me Out of My Messy Room.

Acceptance. Let Go. Bernadette's Messy Musings

As I stare at this forced-upon-me blank canvas on this new website platform — not sure what to write — Bernadette’s Musings from the Messy Room is under what they call “brute force attack.” The bots are squeezing me out, using up the bandwidth, and banging on the door trying to get my password. I feel like I am in an episode of The Walking Dead where the zombies take over the town and more just keep coming … and coming …

When I was told the fixes weren’t diverting them and chances were not looking good for restoring the site, it broke my heart. There is so much history in those pages: creative projects, collaborations, heart-felt exchanges. My spirit is humbled when I read the hundreds of comments left there. I am sad to have to let them go.

Plus, closing the door on the Messy Room so soon after losing Ray — and my breast — to cancer feels like giving up another piece of us. The timing of this good-bye is surreal but my gut says something new — and necessary — is around the corner.

So, here I am, a woman reviewing, recalibrating, renewing, and resourcing her resources. And wondering what of her (and you) this new site will reflect — now that the bots are booting us out of the Messy Room.

Before Ray died he said something curious to me. “There is a Bernadette you haven’t been yet. Find her.” I feel his presence most days, pushing me toward the blank canvas this strange new life offers.

Something I posted on my personal page came up in a Facebook memory the other day. The timing is Divine and a gentle reminder of how we can move beyond “stuff” like this.

I will not be defined nor tamed by my losses. I will maintain the wildness of my wonder. – Bernadette Rose Smith

Written on Facebook in April of 2018: “SPRinG FoRTh! This time of year is rich with stories of renewal that invite us to reconsider where we are in this dance called life and how we’d like to express it. With every tiny bud, fresh leaf, blade of grass – with the busy humming of bees and the chirping of birds – we engage with fresh opportunities calling forth a remembrance that we can spring into and venture forward with a “newer” view.

This morning’s quiet time led me to a reading that woo’d me. (That happens to writers when they find wordplay.)


After this past year’s events, I find I am beyond the possibility of restoration. It has been a year of radical removal of the familiar — right down to the post-mastectomy breasts that look back at me in the mirror, as if to say, “Do not forget to notice the choices you are making. Even when not choosing. You are beyond default options now. They will not get you through the rest of your journey. Though it has served you in the past, restoration will not do it for you now.”

When restoration is not possible, only resurrection will do. This is a season that offers both but it is up to US to decide (or default) which one we will embrace.

Though I am still encircled by the same bright souls who nurture me and pick me up when I stumble, the life I see behind me cannot be restored. It would be one of living with echoes and ghosts — poor stand-ins for a life that sustains the vitality I require if I am going to be hanging around here. You only have to know me a LiTTLe BiT to know that this is true.

Where are YOU with these words? Where has the past season brought YOU to?

If restoration is possible, grab hold and go with it! But do not make the mistake of reaching for restoration because you fear the unfamiliar. Only resurrection will do then. It is up to each of us to discern what our soul wishes to embrace. And there is a Divine Master who invites us to embrace the celebration of Self-Rising.

Me? It is a year of resurrection — for embracing the unfamiliar. To take on a vertical view before I am horizontal. That’s what Ray’s ashes and my pretend breasts tell me every day. I’m not here to stay so I’m making every day matter — even the mundane minutia. I will maintain the wildness of my wonder. I’m going for the glow.

My angels left me a little “you can do it” sign the other day. It was a bumper sticker that said, “Suck it up, princess.”

I know they would not have said that if I didn’t have the suck required for the “up.”
— End Facebook Post —

Hmm. So, here I am. Starting from scratch. But I know I’m not alone. I have Ray and more than a few angels looking over my shoulder — and now you. I don’t know how you found me but I’m glad you did.

Oh, and please don’t tell the bots where I am.

But DO TELL ME. Which is it for YOU this season? Anyone else going through a restoration or resurrection? I’d love to hear!
XO Bernadette

PS: If you were signed up to follow new posts in Bernadette’s Musings from the Messy Room please subscribe to this blog. I could not transfer you to this new platform. Thanks! ❤

Double PS: I have no idea what ads WordPress is showing you—nor how many—but the site is free in exchange for ad space. My apologies. 😉

16 thoughts on “Bots. Bandwidth. Blah-Blah-Blah. Bots are Booting Me Out of My Messy Room.”

    1. Woohoo, Sally! So good to see you here. Lets click the heels of our ruby slippers and off we go. ❤


  1. There is a tunnel in Norway Bernadette, they call it the Lærdal Tunnel. 24 kms. long. Longest tunnel in the world. At the lowest elevation it is about 5 metres and at the highest elevation it is about 265 metres.
    If you find yourself driving down an unfamiliar road and through that tunnel for the first time, you would find yourself driving in the dark on a road that has many ups and downs, twists and turns, a perpetually changing landscape and you are not able to see beyond the bend in the road. The exciting/ terrifying bit is that you will see it when you get there. You’re an Aquarius. Who else, can make a road trip more interesting.
    Enjoy the resurrection. I’m sure it will be a riveting.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Donna, I always suspected (back in the old days of our exchanges in the Messy Room) that you were really an angel. The way you popped in and out and always seem to “know” stuff … Now, I am certain you are an angel. Perhaps even an archangel. If not, you travel in their company and I consider myself among the fortunate when you cast your light my way. And I have a feeling, when I get through this tunnel, you will be there waiting, chuckling just a little, and asking me what took me so froggy-long. I treasure every exchange between us … backward … forward … now. PM me where you are and what you are doing. Much love coming your way! xo


  2. A new road…..a new way….a new view……Let’s enjoy this journey through your unique voice. Looking forward to the “ahas” and meandering musings along the way 💖

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I do believe our paths are parallel. I have never felt very far from you. Sometimes I feel so close to you that your presence here can be felt. I even almost met you once but the Universe kyboshed that. Perhaps our paths may never cross but your words will be with me always and you Bernadette have been the inspiration for mine.
    It’s interesting to me that the easiest thing for me to do, is to get to Newfoundland. Money, no money, a plan, no plan, a place to go, no place to go, 6000 kms away or just an ocean away. It never really seems to matter. I only need to say the word and it is like magic. Needless to say, compliments of the Universe, I have been zapped back on that magic carpet ride back to Newfoundland. It’s funny too that however hard I try to forge my way southwest, towards the heat, the red rock landscapes and the Arizona Sun, it is always Newfoundland that I find myself in which is interesting in itself in that here in Newfoundland, the first sign that summer is coming, is not the heat but the first sightings of icebergs in the Bay.
    I have been like a falling stone where gravity keeps pulling me back to The Rock and back to the Sea. A Groundhog Day of sorts, a perpetual u turn where all roads lead back to Newfoundland. I kept jumping off the cliff hoping for a soft landing on a different road and inevitably where I land becomes this brief illusion or perhaps delusion, that I am living on a completely different Plain but ultimately that road too, loops back to Newfoundland. Every time. So after several failed attempts at being here, and leaving here, my curiosity to look at that became somewhat of a preoccupation. It was like crashing through walls. I have been like a ghost hunter, in pursuit of some ghost here, that I suspected, had been waiting for me. Waiting for me to free her. I finally got the joke.
    Resurrection is the new Restoration and raising anchors.
    Here in Newfoundland, I live on the edge of a cliff. (Literally, I only need look down from my lofty porch, the 185 metre wall of rock to the sea.) More interesting though, is that there is a mountain behind me. How poetic is that? Sounds like a metaphor, doesn’t it? For all the times that I have been here, this is the first time it has felt like home to me. I have come to learn that the Universe is already up and working on the gifts and abundance that I receive, long before I even drag myself out of bed and have my first cup of coffee. I am rich beyond measure. I have found my Pantone Mecca Bernadette.
    Living the dream and waiting for the 100th monkey.


    1. Donna, You have no idea (or perhaps you do) how rich and timely your words are here. I would venture even a little spooky – in a good way, of course. I linger over them, taking them in like song lyrics and melodies that call forth memories in much the same way as the imagination calls forth a story waiting to be told, waiting to be explored more deeply. I find myself in Newfoundland (new found land) as well. The mountain behind me and cliff before me appear as metaphoric but I am not fooled. They present a force waiting to be recognized. I will say I am not climbing that mountain to go back … it was enough to get over it … I am now working to enjoy the view before me though I am not quite sure what it is I see. A Pantone Mecca indeed, with colors that resist the limitation of the names I would give them!

      “I have been like a ghost hunter, in pursuit of some ghost here, that I suspected, had been waiting for me. Waiting for me to free her. I finally got the joke … Resurrection is the new Restoration and raising anchors.” Just wow me some more, my dear … I will start looking over my shoulder for you now. Hahaha-snort.

      I finished writing a book, a story that wants telling – a little bit of “fiction” in the form of a novelette. (My attention span is too short to do otherwise.) As the story winds down, Sophia-the-older-artist is telling Darrah-the-younger-writer about why Brigid, a woman who learned how to travel beyond the veil without having to die, did so. Sophia used the 100th monkey as her analogy.

      “I am curious how you will spin this piece into your novel—if at all—my dear.” Sophia smiled. “Give it careful consideration. Let your discernment guide you, but don’t let the naysayers limit you. We are all the stuff of dreams.”

      When I read your words, “Living the dream and waiting for the 100th monkey,” – well, there are no words that will do justice to the feeling that comes over me. Parallel indeed are we, Donna. Let me know when it’s time to fly … xo


  4. Drink deeply and allow your well to be filled. You will know when it’s time.
    I am equally as astounded Bernadette and more certain of where we are. Waiting for the 100th Monkey is my book. I have been playing with that for some time now.
    I suppose it is my cynicism of “purpose” and how to be a productive member of society and my aversion to having a job that compels my own story. When does doing nothing until you are doing it become as acceptable as blue hair and tattoos? When do our days, no longer need to be filled with “doing” for fear of wasting a life. When do we realize that we don’t have to board the first train that comes into the station? Get on, don’t get on, but know, that there is always a next train coming into the station. There is always a choice.
    I’m waiting. I do believe the 100th monkey is coming.
    The irony is that I fancy myself a writer, but have yet to write words. I am a writer who does not write. I’m having trouble transcribing what’s in my head onto paper. And does it really matter if you use too many commas? Another 100th monkey thing for me when too many commas are no longer an assault on my grammar level but a tool to hear my voice. (It’s lovely that you don’t feel compelled to be my teacher.)
    Perhaps I’ll catch you at the fork in the road.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I read somewhere that Newfoundland was rich with storytellers, Donna, of which you are one. I was not able to write my little novelette until I could acknowledge that I like to tell stories and sometimes they require I write them. It was intimidating to write fiction—or to offer pieces of my life to fiction. To ask the questions that gave me permission to dramatize, exaggerate … to mystify and make magic with words.

      What if? And then I grow a little more …

      As for commas, they are the storyteller-pause for effect. 😉 My sentence structures often require too many and so I re-write, listening for the reader’s voice. My latest challenge is with semi-colons … seems I am over-indulging. HaHaHa!

      There is a quote I recall from somewhere (maybe the Book of Runes). “We do without doing and everything gets done.” I often get a vision of Bernadette tripping up angels when she moves too fast. That, too, is corrected. They do a much better job when I stay out of the way. Here’s to your Hundredth Monkey, dear. I will be waiting at the station to read it. Much Love!!!


  5. I was just thinking.
    It’s an interesting Universe. There are no coincidences. No mistakes. There is meaning to every admission and to every omission. The tricky bit certainly, is knowing what that meaning is. The tricky bit, is to learn from it.

    So what does it mean to be gifted a Tarot Deck..with 2 Fool cards and no Queen of Cups.
    It was a huge blow to me. What I would call a huge klunk from the Universe. As I shuffled, I talked to the cards.
    The feeling it left me with was a great sense of meloncholy and loss. I could not understand why the Queen of Cups was denied me.
    The Queen of Cups. It speaks of Love and nurturing and the comforts of home. A mother’s love. The cards refused to speak of it. The tarot deck made sure it wouldn’t.
    Two fool cards only added the double pressure of a new journey. Trust. New beginnings. Take the Leap. Jump. Considering the way I live my life, some would think that it means just that. A Fool. Some days I’m inclined to believe it.
    It’s an amazing sky right now. All the major players are out in full force, banging heads and compelling us to meet our resistance. Will we run again or will we stand brave and go through it and risk getting our feelings hurt and learn something.
    It’s a playback of sorts. 1983. Same shit is back in your face. Players may have changed. Same resistance. With the wounded healer, Chiron, Mars, Uranus and Pluto, and of course our beloved Saturn, there is no stopping it. The pimple has surfaced. The scab has already been picked. You will come to learn that with Chiron, the pain is the reward. Know that the Universe is pushing for a different ending. Compelling you to push through your resistance. The healing has already begun.


    1. Your timing intrigues me, Donna. You are always spot on with what you write … like you emerge from the thoughts and questions in my journal through some “not so secret to you” threshold. 🙂 As if we have been hanging out over morning coffee, deep in casual conversation about the many twists and turns our lives have taken … you pick up without missing a beat. I know I am redundant in my expression of the wonder of how you do it.

      My first thought about your Queen of Cup-less Tarot deck? Who needs the Queen of Cups when you are the Queen of Cups? That’s my hit, hon. I use a tarot deck based on mythology. In my deck, the Queen of Cups is Helen, the beautiful and mysterious figure that was the catalyst for the Trojan War. Her story and relationship with love is a very different expression from the nurturing Madonna/Mother. Helen activates the depths in others, often without doing anything at all … aside from being her lovely, charismatic, and mysterious self. (That would be you.)

      And your 2 Fools … well, that is your “get out of jail free” card. Your second shot without having to jump through the hoops of life-death-birth for the do over.

      Yes, I am pushing through resistance … a sneaky, subtle resistance. The ending is going to be very different from what I thought, with Ray on the other side of the veil … and my breast, disposed of in a hazardous material bin at the hospital that did my mastectomy. I am learning how to communicate on etheric levels without all my attachments to the “body of experience” I shared with him … as well as a different form of nurturing myself with the daily reminder in the mirror. Certainly more productive when I release the resistance, even a little exciting for how very different an ending I can write, if I wish to. Things are definitely stirring up! I hold to the goodness in it. I have earned the right to be obnoxious in my positivity on my way out the door. Hahaha! Call me a Fool twice … I don’t care. 😉

      1983, huh? That WAS a pivotal year. 2019 … the same. I love how you stir me up, Donna, oh Queen of Cups! XO


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