Read an Excerpt
EMPOWERED LIVING
A Guide to Being Your True Self
By Antoinette Levine
Balboa Press
Copyright © 2012 Antoinette Levine
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-4667-4
Chapter One
First Inspiration
Most of us are familiar with the following universal call for Invisible support, peace and courage. Here is how I understand its offering:
"God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change —anything other than ourselves and our life circumstances—the Courage to change the things I can —ourselves and our life circumstances—and the Wisdom to know the difference."
Initially, Stage One wisdom arises from our common sense. Mindful awareness practices strengthen our inner resolve and invite higher and deeper wisdom. Wisdom grows stage by stage with committed practice.
As we revisit stages throughout our life in "spiral progressions," increased wisdom inspires our choice making. This is the grace of our integrative process. As we courageously co-operate with Source, our spirit-mind-body integrates toward wholeness. Our challenges loosen. Spirit lightens our heavy heart.
Heart is at the root of Courage. The Latin word 'cor' translates to heart. The English word core originated from "cor." Our core authentic Self—Inner Being—energizes us with unconditional love.
Unconditional love is the antidote for fear. Our Inner Being encourages us to live from love. We grow in love as we do our inner work. We watch as our outer world begins to change for the better. This heartfelt courage is our first step into a new paradigm. Our relationship with Life has changed. Serenity or "peace of mind" becomes a distinct possibility.
Recovery issues were woven into my family history for three generations. I share with you a late October 2011 (pre-Aquarian Age start date) e-mail exchange with younger brother, Joseph Gerard, a recovered homeless-alcoholic, now employed as a Washington State-certified Peer Counselor who advocates for others. He deeply inspired my recovery journey as well. May our heartfelt words give you unbendable courage, and inspire your self-exploration and daily Life. Welcome!
Antoinette,
Sometimes what you say is beyond me, but I understood this. Although the arrival of the Aquarian Age and shifts on the planet are exciting developments, it is a little scary to me. I feel that I will need to expect more from myself and I hope I am up to the challenge. :)
Love & Bright Blessings,
Joseph
* * *
Joseph,
Yes, more is needed from us all ... but we must go inside and relate with our inner Light (our individual soul energized by Universal spirit) for guidance. It is simply easier and wisest—and truly the only way to go through what is now and forever changing around us.
Please do ask yourself, "What is my best spiritual support system, structure and reliable resource at this time in my life?" Lean into it—whatever it is. Trust your inner "old" wise Self's whispers, voice and intuition. It offers deeper wisdom than common sense and intellect combined.
All-Ways feel free to speak your truth with loving kindness, no matter what those around you believe.
It is an Inside job. It is what recovery is All about. Recovering our trust in our inner Self, we breathe and go, one foot, one step, one day at a time.
I hope this enhances your daily living possibilities as you expand with continued growth. The Real you inside is up for Anything. The power of the Universe is inside us all—God, Source. Part of the lie earthly Beings are sold is that we have to buy-pay a church or other outer entity for our well-being and daily prosperity.
Humor is good, an important energy to lighten the darkness.
Another helpful daily bread is Abraham-Hick's Publications e-mail offerings: dailyquote@abraham-hicks.com
Love light and blessings beyond time and space ... Antoinette
Fight and Flight
It startled me. In an instant, I'd forgotten how to drive. Where do my feet go? I clinched the steering wheel. It was the only thing to hold onto.
I had needed gasoline. The Shell station across from Burbank's NBC "Tonight Show" studios was ahead on the right. I turned into its Alameda Avenue driveway. My midnight-blue Tahoe lurched, bounced and rocked up over the curb. Driving was a necessary part of my profession in the film industry: location management. I ignored this hiccup. Pushing past a telling moment, I drove toward the pumps—ignorant of the danger I brought to myself and everyone in the vicinity.
Suddenly, slow motion surrounded me. The brake pedal wasn't where my brain had told my foot to go. Every element of driving had become muddled. It was a minor stroke.
A parked taxi driver had witnessed this odd demonstration. A uniformed attendant rapidly exited the station's mini-market. He offered to pump the gas. I was shaken and confused. I knew how to drive. What had happened?
Neither gentleman thought I would be safe to drive home. I agreed. Thank goodness, no one was harmed. Front bumper damage was noted. One of the men parked the slightly dented Tahoe. After driving me home safely, the taxi driver gave me his card. I lost memory of what occurred next.
* * *
After all that followed, those split-second memories would eventually resurface. No matter the brain and bodily damage yet to unfold, this vivid recollection waited in cerebral safekeeping. Now, I am able to open this story from its beginning.
There'd been other warning signs before the loss of cognition at the fuel pumps. Suspected arthritis had been ailing me for several months. Joint stiffness and an achy muscle history started in December 2006. I had noted a history of experiences and saved them in my computer. This condition began while on hiatus between film production projects. I was living at my little condo on the Mayan Riviera. My friends in the Yucatan Peninsula were concerned. I was a healthy traveler and an avid scuba diver. My lethargy was highly irregular.
Lavonna Redman, founder of Angel Notion, a non-profit community health center in Playa del Carmen, took me to one of her trusted doctors. Multiple joint aches continued. A cold graduated to relentless low-grade flu. As a constant fatigue settled in, I carried on. I wouldn't stop. I iced my knees as the pain became increasingly uncomfortable. I was unable to sleep.
I traveled back to L.A. unconvinced I needed professional medical attention. I was stubborn and ignored growing evidence of a critical health condition. The pain waned in and out. I coped.
A consummate work-a-holic I sought my next fix. It was to be a February 2007 Disney CBS pilot. I kept up my location-manger high-pressured pace the best I could. As one of a film crew's collective department heads, I took my work seriously. I acted like I was fine in meetings and presentations with director and producers. I was tired all the time.
While out finding and negotiating suitable locations, I had to pull over and nap. Thankfully I had hired Nathan Stein to once again be my key assistant. We had become a dynamic duo in my twenty-three years of staffing location departments.
Nathan recalls our Carpooler's pilot prep and film days: "Antoinette, we were all worried about you. We knew something was seriously amiss. You'd never ever been sluggish or tired before. You were always the epitome of high energy. It was weird. You were very slow and deliberate with walking. Your attitude was that you were seeking treatment in your own way. People thought you should be seeing a doctor or primary care."
I remember needing to go sleep in my car. Once my earlymorning-shoot day duties were complete, Nate would take over for me. My visits to a naturopath and acupuncturist raised my expectations. I wanted to figure out what was wrong. Why wasn't I getting any better? The naturopath decided we needed blood tests.
We had been experimenting with non-conclusive allergy testing. Then he called. It must have been soon after the Shell station display of reckless driving.
"Antoinette, there's something off with your blood tests. Go to your nearest emergency room immediately. Don't drive," he warned.
I felt panicky. A cab driver dropped me at Providence St. Joseph's Medical Center Emergency Room entrance. Hospital admission forms were filled out with clammy hands. My knees buckled as I leaned into the ER counter and waited for a room. I felt short of breath from fear. Friends recall being called or text messaged while I waited.
Body Smarts
Nate received a call I was at St. Joseph's emergency room. News telegraphed between a few of my closest friends. Ardice Faoro, Carmen Thomas-Paris, Jessica Estrada-Petterson, Cathy Carr, Donna Schwartz-Mills and Wendy Ferren-Van Syckle were all informed. They are friends you'll hear from as this story unfolds. I might have called Regina Rose, my younger sister and friend, but don't remember how my family was notified. Nathan or the hospital might have called. My hospital admission stunned everyone. I had kept my downward health condition completely under wraps, not wanting to hurt my reputation in the film business. It was one of my deepest fears. We were only as good as the work we can perform. And I was in bad shape. My family hadn't been told about my abnormal health condition either.
Nathan hurried to the hospital. He found me lying on an ER gurney. I remember the moisture in his eyes as he watched. A mentor and friend—flattened out—shivering and burning up with fever. His recollection of that first admission: "It made me sad and scared, not knowing what was going on, but also relieved that traditional care was being provided."
With a previous history of solid health, I never had a primary care provider. Motion Picture Insurance is phenomenal—I could have gone to the Toluca Lake Health Center the minute I returned from Mexico. I never considered it an option. I had always looked to alternative medicine for my health care needs. I also dismissed traditional medicine as a solution to what ails us. Firmly ensconced in my beliefs, common sense had been absent.
I was fortunate that March 2007 evening. Dr. Stephen M. Taback was called in. A St. Joseph's Medical Center cardio-pulmonary physician with a private practice as well, he would become my extraordinary primary physician by default. When I researched how he came to be my physician, I found irony in his reply, "I see all the admitted Motion Picture patients that come into the hospital." He is on the MPI physicians list I had failed to investigate.
In the swirl of the evening, my former blood tests were obtained. More were taken. The stroke event wasn't yet in the mix. Family caught planes, friends drove over. This was an unusual occurrence.
Cathy decorated the wall beside my bed with shiny tropical fish cutouts. Everyone knew how much I loved communing with our underwater world's beauty and uniqueness. Carmen's gift: a string of colorful lights accented Jessica's photo collage of friend's gatherings and celebrations. They wanted to cheer me up and also give evidence to nurses and doctors of who I am in their lives. Orderlies would eventually assist in bringing the photo collage along as I traveled the hospital room to room.
Regina arrived from Seattle and stayed in my nearby condo. I answered her question: "What happened to your car? It has a dent on the front end ..." with a "No, it doesn't." I was experiencing short-term memory loss with no recollection of the brain seizure.
I was also distraught at missing my godson Marco Petterson's baptism. Jessica, a longtime friend, former location assistant (now my "co-madre"), had chosen me to be a spiritual presence in Marco's life. Her husband Robert and she were only concerned with my getting better.
Wendy, a friend and former '80s radio days colleague, now a studio executive, brought me light-hearted movies from Paramount Pictures' film collection. It's what I asked for, to watch once I returned home. We were all relatively hopeful at this point. Our programming research colleague Donna Schwartz wrote in her blog, "Her health problems gave me a shock. As long as I have known her she's done everything right. She was on her university track team and always had a daily workout regime. She watches what she eats and tries to live her life in balance." Donna's blog notes reflect the hospital's comment regarding my health history: unremarkable.
But my history was changing by the hour. Dr. Taback requested a rheumatology consultation. Dr. Wonil Lee, a highly regarded private practice rheumatologist, confirmed Dr. Taback's suspicions. Systemic lupus had been added to my once unremarkable medical history.
CVA (cerebral vascular accident) history waited in the wings, unbeknownst to my physicians, who were focusing on vital-sign stabilization. I was placed on high doses of steroids and numerous other pharmaceuticals to address fever and infections. Even though my condition wasn't extreme for a hospital staff, it was the shock of my life—up to that point.
More shocking than the hospitalization was being involuntarily stopped. For the first in thirty-six years, I was told not to work.
This required a greater adjustment than a dis-ease diagnosis. Ardice and Carmen heard me say that I wanted to get better and start looking for my next project. Source had other plans.
Based on Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' stages of grief, I was in a first-stage state of denial. The tide had been turned for me—yet I was still completely unaware that this outer event was a precursor of a tumultuous, yet often sought after, major inner shift.
Home Alone
Now I was released from a "first time in my life" hospitalization, but the initial March 2007 stroke event had gone undetected. The doctor's main focus was on the highly imbalanced blood-test results. It would be several years before I regained the initial stroke-memory data shared earlier. Medical discharge records from the seven-day admission confirmed: acute systemic lupus. Secondary to lupus, a silent brain seizure threat remained.
The clinical social worker's discharge notes stated that I understood the newly diagnosed condition and was anxious—an admitted "control issues" personality type.
In truth, I was in a state of shock, leaving the hospital stunned by an unexpected medical condition. Unable to return to work, I had no idea what lupus was. The predisposition for stroke and lupus in my ambitious lifestyle was stress. I knew I had been over-thinking, overworking and stressing my body for many years. I'd grown used to having a clean bill of health. I covered up a resistant disposition with denial and hopefulness.
Though I had reviewed Louise L. Hay's You Can Heal Your Life, I didn't adhere to its metaphysical teachings. Spiritual metaphysics would eventually be a consciously revisited component of my recovery process. Louise Hay's recommended affirmations regarding lupus rang an unheeded bell. It spoke to alignment with authentic self-love. I hadn't looked at cerebral vascular accident (stroke) affirmations until much later: "Life is change. I adapt easily to new. I accept life. Past present and future."
I was so out of control trying to be in control, Inner or outer sage advice could not be heard. In-home daytime nursing care had been hired, then discontinued after the first few weeks. Nate, Cathy and other friends visited when they could. I vaguely remember Cathy helping me figure out how to attend to much-needed internet banking. I wasn't used to asking for help, though now I needed assistance to handle ordinary tasks.
My tough-as-nails, "I can handle it" attitude eventually resurfaced. I expected an instantaneous solution. The medication's side effects were extremely disorienting, physically and psychologically. My heretofore healthy track record seldom required medicinal supplements. The most I would ingest by choice were homeopathic aids for colds or sore throat. Widely utilized over the counter remedies for what ails us were not shelved in my cupboards.
While I lived in a medicated fog of despair, my life circumstances had changed with frightful abruptness. High doses of steroids and additional medications added to my unfocused state of mind. I was unconsciously grieving a much coveted "bill of great health." For a former university-level competitive athlete and world-traveled scuba diver, this was not the life I'd become accustomed to. I wanted my old life back, right now! I was impatient and ornery.
Nathan recalls my expectations about work: "You were thinking we might go on the series of the pilot we had just shot.'" But Nate saw a glimmer of hope in that cloud of delusion. Maybe I was getting a clue when "Desperate Housewives" Location Manager David Foster called. He wanted my assessment of Nathan as a key assistant. "'I don't know when I'm going to start my next project—so if Nathan Stein is on the availability list, you'd be doing yourself a big favor to hire him immediately." David did. Nate, normally the first on my team to be hired, had secured work for years to come. I was relieved. That's as close as I came to surrender.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from EMPOWERED LIVING by Antoinette Levine Copyright © 2012 by Antoinette Levine. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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