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May 4, 2023

Dumpster Diving for Me

Yep, I was truly dumpster diving in the crispness of an eclipse night. A spectacular spectacle of a sight as an ass was pointed up in the air as a “fuck you” or “kiss my ass” message to the shadows of the darkness of criticism and judgement from a world of imperfection with an opinion from the mind of those who must believe they have perfected the world.

From attitude to inspiration, through fear and back, to lovingly having my ass kicked, I found my way back to the woman who was without the anger and hurt. I had been given a message from God to save my soul from the destruction of my own mental thoughts of worth and value that I placed upon me. Living riddled in guilt and apologetic to the world of my existence as I felt all had been my fault and my burdens to carry while I became the enemy of my truth of love and light. A message in the night while in a sleep of terror and pain of the struggles that became my existence, stacked with shame for the woman I should be based on the image that had been created due to success in one or more corners of my life.

The message was simply, “Paint me beautiful. Corrie paint you beautiful. Stop trying to be a better human and start becoming a beautiful woman.” A powerful message that I did not know at the time was to rob the external of the darkness of self hate. The message became a calling as I started each day after prayer with a little sketch of a woman. Some mornings she was beautiful, other mornings sexy, and some vulnerable and depleted. I started to discover she was the aspects of my inconsistency to who I was and what I truly wanted in this life.

With a constant persistence from the voice that guides me to love, I kept hearing “Corrie you are not listening. Paint me beautiful!” I argued over and over that I was not a painter, so how could this be done by me? I created sketches but not paintings and my concern became, how would I paint a nose? I guess this was the humour of, “You can’t see beyond the end of your nose Corrie.” Amazing how I could see clearly for everyone else but clairvoyance for my life had a blocked view.

I finally surrendered to the journey, finding myself in a dollar store buying cheap paint and warped canvases, thinking that this was a whole new level of crazy, but then I also remembered that I once believed to not be a medium, a writer, or a teacher, yet here I am existing in my world of “nots.” It looks nothing of what I would have thought it would be, but in my dream state I was constantly reminded of the little girl with movies in her eyes and a creative mind, so I at least had to play out the calling.

Standing in the lineup with arms full of painting supplies I wanted to turn around and place it all back on the shelf, only to once again hear the voice, “Corrie, look around. Look from head to toe and all around, where did you go? You have become like this dollar store, bargaining your worth and your value. Do you not see?” The frustration and hurt that flooded in with the recognition of the truth behind the words was so real and this was long beyond the release of my book, More Than Existing.

Just as quickly though, the guides reminded me of hope as I glanced down to my hands that just happened to be wearing a valuable treasure that day, rescued from EBAY. A symbol of worth as the ring I wore on my finger was a reminder that I have been the saviour of me. It was now dirty and lacking care and attention, as to me it had just become a ring on my finger, another guilt story of being the only worth that I personally owned. A sad story of my creation but as I unloaded my collection of painting materials the cashier let out a gasp, “OMG that ring! It is so beautiful and unique!”

I could have said a simple “thank you” in response, but in my poor me energy I chose instead to discount the ring and overshare the story of how it came to be mine. Today I know that I had been preconditioned to gaslighting myself, who would I be without being picked on and bullied? So, I had perfected that to myself. Right down to always wondering if I showed enough love or kindness to even those who were out to destroy me. I am sharing the realness of the moment as it has since become an insight to the lack of dignity I still had for myself (trust me the layers are deep when you awaken) and the recognition of conditioning doesn’t mean you are going backwards on your spiritual journey but rather a confirmation that you are ready to expose your truth underneath the dusty layers of shadowing.

With a mind full of chatter, hating on myself as the woman who could just not shut up and say thank you, I shamefully walked out the door with all that was needed to what I was telling myself would just waste more time. Another distraction for the accumulation of treasures and garbage that needed to be sorted and work to be completed in my world.

But I listened to the calling and with a makeshift art studio set up on a dining room table that had a history of stories of its own from a long line of strong woman and a family of love and pain, I picked up the paint brush. Contemplating the blank canvas, I considered where to even begin. What I did know was hair. I am a great stylist and have a deep knowing of the colour wheel, so I started to paint hair. This became the beginning of what would come to life as “hot messes of the heads of women”. As each one unfolded, I laughed, cried, hated, and loved my way into seeing something beautiful in each one and seeing pieces of all the other women I loved and admired in my life. There was an attachment but with every creation my thought was “Paint Me Beautiful.” I thought every image would look like me, but no each one became a nobody but a somebody with attitude.

Allowing myself to paint initiated a lighthearted feeling and a desire to just make some silly shit, but also opened the door for some deep discussions with myself about how I discounted myself, my responsibilities, and my life. Then anger inside unfolded as conversations of how I don’t take myself seriously so why should anyone else, fueled by the energy of, “I am a fucking joke”. I started to see and remember being laughed at and made fun of for expressing dreams and ideas, then flashed forward to remembering the woman of me who had achieved many firsts, years before ideas caught on, like perming eyelashes and eyelash extensions. Others would tease and call my ideas crazy, yet after a few years would pass by, those ideas would be brought to life by another and had massive followings. Meanwhile I would have allowed another’s opinion to discount my original thought and abandon the idea only to see it brought to life by another.

Why was all of this coming as I was painting hair and faces and trying to master a nose? Thank God hair covered the ears, so I was not having to paint those. Do you know how hard it is to make a nose not look like a penis on the face?

Through creating, my layers of the deepest levels of healing started to reveal some deeper truths and beautiful ugly cries appeared as I found myself starting to be humbly proud. The pieces became conversational and inspirational. They started to find a home on a mug but along the way some innocent statements started a new chain reaction that would unfold a night of a personal hell, and this was true pain. The statements didn’t come at once nor did the energy behind the statements from the individuals have a hurtful intent, but the threads as they came together created a story that has caused me the most pain all of my life and a reminder that, “You will not be for everyone, not everyone gets you. You don’t talk in a way anyone can understand you. The world is not ready for you or your work. No one knows where to place you.”

The last nail to put the final thread to the picture became a total eclipse of my heart just like the song by Bonnie Tyler. The night of the eclipse my heart and world went fully dark, but there was a light that was holding me above my human experience. I became a witness to my own pain and for the first time I had such compassion for the woman who was screaming and crying out all that for years she believed to be true even though she told herself she did not. Like the paintings that were worthless garbage, and a joke so was I. I knew it was not true in my true self of today, but I was witnessing the dance of the darkness and the shadow which when turned around was my beautiful self with tears in her eyes, screaming at the me of today “Why can’t you just let me out!”

I have been punishing (which I called protecting) the gifted woman who really didn’t care what another thought, she just loved creating. In the morning of a new dawn I thought, “Perhaps the best thing to do is to throw it all away,” so I did! Months of painting went to the dumpster. Bare foot, barely dressed, I walked across the icy path to the dumpster and threw out the paintings of the faces of women I loved and hated in the desire to answer the call of finding the meaning of the message “Paint Me Beautiful!”

Walking back to the house empty handed I thought that was it but there was more to come. Right as the clock struck midnight on the night of the eclipse, just as the darkness was starting to cover the full moon, I found myself fighting hard for me. I was back outside dumpster diving to retrieve a part of me that I didn’t know meant so much to the man who loves this crazy woman who is the creator of madness, beautiful disasters, and love. The events unfolded moments before midnight as I was talking to my partner proudly retelling the story of how I stayed the dragon and completed the message of Paint Me Beautiful only to hear a sincere reply echo through the other end of the phone, “You actually just let the world win.”

My partner Cory had a real clarity and a deep knowing as he proceeded to explain in his matter-of-fact voice, “The paintings are nobody and that’s what makes them so imperfectly perfect. They were created for no other purpose but to help you see your own light.” He went on to say how much he loves those paintings, and it was once again me discounting my own worth, waiting for approval. The message hit its mark and in the light of the eclipse here I am ass hanging out of the dumpster as I dive back in to retrieve the paintings, his voice of encouragement echoing in my ear, “This is what people love about you Corrie and it’s what people wish they could freely do, letting go of the perfection, and allowing yourself to be nobody but yet everything to many. You are messy, crazy, wild, soft and gentle, yet fierce and strong. You are what the world wishes to be, but they care to much about what the world thinks, and you just care about the world.”

My recollection of his exact words may have changed in the passion of the experience, but hearing this message from a man of little words spoke loud and clear to my heart because he loved me long before I loved me. He seen me before I seen me, and I will never forget those words, “You just let the world win!”

Rescued from the trash, the paintings are back, alive and well. Regardless of whether others love and purchase these creations, I have completed my journey and found the beauty within the chaos. I work with the messy that everyone tries to hide, so I get to see the best of everyone before the world ever gets to see it. Truly the work I do is to help others paint themselves beautiful, just as I painted the messy, beautiful version of my world.

This may just be the end of the dark night of the soul journey. From the creation of More Than Existing to The Way and now through guiding others to paint themselves beautiful I have discovered at the end of it all I don’t have to share all of me or my gifts. I have come to accept that this hot mess of a dumpster diver is nothing but beautiful love.

In conclusion to this tale, I raise my glass and send a toast to all the hot mess ladies who are no longer trying to perfect the life, and are now living and creating memories in the perfection of imperfection. Cheers Ladies! Live by your rules and never let the world define you!

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