It’s your sunday and you’re stoked. You’ve been thinking about this moment all week long after yet another 6-day week working hard for someone else’s dream (well 5 days of actual slaving and 1 day of zombie brain). You lie there in bed and yell:

“Let the inspiration come!”

But nothing happens. Then you remember the sun dome over the crown chakra thing from Inspiration Comes On sundays and take a chisel to your self-esteem.

“Dumb-dumb,” you scold yourself. “Crown chakra…hello? You need to get vertical.” (of course that is another one of your paradigms speaking. You can still hit any of the chakras you desire in a horizontal position, especially the root chakra. Nudge nudge. Wink wink.)

So you jump out of bed, head to the living room where it’s nice and bright, and sit there like a swami in pajamas poised and ready to receive with gratitude. You close your eyes, take a few deep centering breaths and belt out the mantra:

“Pull The Switch!”

With your spine stretched out nice and tall, you brace yourself for an onslaught of photons and…nothing happens. You look right, then left, then right again, but where is this Igora you heard mention of?

Now the hammer comes out. “Guppy! Someone is trying to sell you swamp land in Florida and you’re biting. There’s no such thing as an inner Igora. Inspiration may come for the Woman Not Waiting dudette but not for me. I’m just not creative.” Your shadow picks up another nail and Wham! “What was I thinking? Right. I wasn’t thinking…as usual. I am so stupid.”


The sound of a bowl exploding as it hits the floor pours in from the bedroom. You drop the hammer on your foot, express yourself explicatively, and hobble to the bedroom.

There is a stranger in your bed, and it doesn’t look like George Michael at all. It, because you’re not quite sure what the gender is, is flicking the TV remote, and eating the bonbons that didn’t end up rolling underneath your dresser and the pile of laundry in the corner.

“Excuse me?” you utter without the pleasant tone that usually accompanies an apology. “Who the frack are you?”

The beast waves your words away as if they were flies buzzing around a street-vendor-tubular-pink-goo-facsimile-of-a-sandwich and chomps away at the bonbons while dribbling a response on your nice white duvet.

“Ee -bola,” the thing spits a piece of plastic wrap out at you as it sprays its introduction.

“Uggh!” You grimace to yourself. “It doesn’t even take the wrapper off. Hang a sec. Did it say Ebola?”

You run screaming out of the room and grab a blow torch from the medicine cabinet (why you have a blow torch handy is a mystery to me but that’s where my inner Igora took me so let’s go with it). By the time you return, the thing has finished its morning feast of junk food and is sitting half comatose watching reruns of a reality show.

As you breach the threshold of the room that has now become the dark cave of the monster hiding within, you aim the nozzle at arms length and let the flames rip.

Whoa! Back up. Don’t burn your bridges just yet.

Perhaps if we rewind and break down the scene where your hideous guest introduces herself? With a mouth full of candy and chocolate it is totally understandable that you would mistake “Igora” for “Ebola”, but take note of this for future reference.

Sometimes we hear what we want to hear regardless of what is actually said.

This Igora character, as repugnant as she may seem at the moment is the bridge between you and your crystal sun dome. Treat her with kindness.

So we’ve averted a murder and a visit by your local firefighters (I know what you’re thinking. Wipe that thought and focus, woman!)…Now what?

Igora burps. You contort your face in disgust then calm down.

“Well, Igora. Didn’t you hear me say Pull The Switch?” you complain.

“Yeah, I heard ya.” She yawns. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to nap now.”

“What a lazy b—,” you think to yourself. “Where’s the Yes, Mistress?”

Igora opens one eye and drones out a lifeless yet surprising piece of wisdom. “What do you expect? I’ve been twiddling my thumbs in this dark cavern all my life,” she pokes your forehead with her finger three times, “and NOW you think that three little words are going to magically turn me into your loyal servant? Hmmmf!” she gripes.

The over-sized and under-exercised ogre reaches into her pocket indignantly, pulls out an elastic band, grabs your wrist, and slips it on. “There. You can start by cleaning up that negative self-talk. Every time you let that little voice in your head say…no…even THINK anything bad about you, you just snap that elastic band and tell it “thanks for sharing”. Then you say out loud the exact opposite thought. Wear it every day for 30 days.”

You stand there in disbelief and think to yourself: “Igora is a nutcase,” to which she immediately reaches over and…


“Ouch! What did you do that for?” you complain.

“And that goes for me too,” she adds. “Now where’s the shower? I have years of brain slime to wash off. No More Junk Thought.”