Category Archives: Changing your beliefs

WHO’S DRIVING THE BUS?

The wheels on the bus go round and round. The people on the bus go up and down.   But, does anyone know …article-2154929-1376A9CD000005DC-502_634x350

WHO IS DRIVING THE BUS?

If I can lay my thoughts down on a page, placing the words just right, perhaps they will tell the story that will help me better understand who I am, and who I am not.

Last week, frustrated during meditation when I couldn’t seem to quiet my thoughts around some particular office drama, I realized when my time was up and I opened my eyes that I had simply been sitting for twenty minutes “thinking with my eyes closed!” With a deep sigh, I concluded that I was still a work in progress, alas, “a mere human” when it came to being addicted to my thoughts, stories and the act of thinking.    How was this possible when I had worked so hard to remember to be present in the moment and in my body?  Was I simply a “Talking Head”?  As Trump would tweet, “FAKE MEDITATION…SO SAD!”

None of us were born “Talking Heads”. In the beginning, we were awakened into an altered state of reality, consciousness seemingly stuffed into a physical body.   After being squished into existence through a tight dark tunnel and landing in these huge slipper hands; we were slapped on the ass and welcomed into this three dimensional mish-mash of existence we call life on Gaia.  Imagine being confined in a small physical existence when we were used to soaring freely through the jungles of space and time as omnificent creator.

When we were babies, until we were around five years old, emotion was our first and only language. Since we couldn’t form thoughts without a language to support these thoughts, we floated around on a cloud of feelings from the surrounding emotional atmosphere.  We had our first taste from the smorgasbord of emotion as early on as the womb.  These feelings were those of our mother; but we adopted them as if they were our own.  They most likely were a “mixed bag of treats” including love, excitement, anxiety, shame and/or fear.  With no way to employ our own special reptilian skills for survival, we had to rely solely on these emotions to tell us when something was wrong, such as there was a lion in the bush or a prehistoric Pterodactyl circling overhead.  A lot of good that would do, however, when helpless, we couldn’t even roll up in our blankets to hide from view.

Slowly, with the waning guidance and support of our friends and guardians from the other side, we got used to the giant “Talking Heads” that were all around us.   Before long we learned we could wrap these big folks around our little baby fingers; and they would come running –most of the time- when we cried. Dependent, we didn’t know who they were; but they seemed to be the only ones who would arrive to help us survive in these new body-vehicles we were test-driving.  On the other hand, they could cause major body damage if they dropped us or shook us to hard; not to mention they could also squash us like a bug if one of them accidentally stepped on us.

As toddlers we were off and running; motoring through life every waking hour.   Each day, we connected and disconnected somewhere around three million neuro-pathways and synapses as we alternately crashed and burned our way through time and space.  We were developing new skills of survival and learning what did and did not work with these new little special buses called physical bodies.  When we got hurt, pooped our pants or were hungry, we cried.  Hopefully, one of the “Talking Heads” would come running to our rescue.   Sometimes these big people would stick their big heads in our face and cooing, put kisses on us with their big lips.  They’d tickle us and then laugh when we laughed, snapping endless pictures so they’d never forget how darned cute we were in their own image.  Subsequently, they also tried to convince their friends and family that we were something special by posting these pictures in cyber space for all the world to see.

Now, I like everyone else, have a very personal and selective memory of my youth. I’d like to preface the following by saying that I realize that we adopt “our story” making it absolute truth when in actuality, it is a story we created initially, oftentimes with the mind of a child, based on very little fact in deed.  Whew, that was a mouth-full.  Most of us then live and relive our story, creating and re-creating people and outcomes over time that will actualize what we believe to be true; that is until we can recognize our stories as just that, “a story”.  At that point, walah, we may then be capable of extracting the truth from our story and alchemizing any past suffering.

Now I’m at a turning point,  I can choose whether to write “The End” or I can continue to share my story in spite of the fact that I know most of it is conjecture.  Although, because I started a story that like a dangling participle didn’t even make it through all of the conflict, introduce the characters, or even enjoy a climax, or resolution, I don’t feel complete.  Thus, please stay tuned for Part II of Who’s Driving the Bus.sign

To be continued…

 

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THE GOLDEN EGG- Conclusion

golden-egg

I had dinner with a very strongly opinionated local French girl who had a near death experience.  She said, “you probably meditate all wrong”.  My ego reacted with self righteous indignation, “how dare she!”  I explained, politely for the most part,  that she was obviously full of shit because I had learned from the best of the best.  And, every day for years I did this routine…20 minutes, incense and candles, emptying my mind..blah blah blah.  She said you’re just chasing the good feelings, the light (well, who wouldn’t want to do that, that’s the point, right?); but what about really feeling the dark shadow side?”  (These are my words, not her exact words).  

I’m thinking, where you focus is what your reality becomes.  Where your energy level is, is the place from which you create your thoughts, emotions, your projections, your reality.   Well, they say, when you’re ready, the teacher appears.  I seem to have a flock of them, dropping out of the sky, showing up at the end of my driveway or from behind the barn.  I pay attention to some of them right away and others….maybe I have an “Aha” moment a year or two later.

…For example, a year ago, I met this stranger on an airplane.  He referred a book to me that had some “aha” things that I felt were important for me to know at this time. Ironically, a year ago I was not yet at this point, which is probably why I carried his note around for months, even losing it from time to time.   Only recently had I become intrigued with examining Big Love, to find my version of the “Golden Egg”. 

I found the referred book to be all Quantum and combined Eastern and Western Philosophies.  It spoke more specifically to the interplay of light and darkness, and other dualities that cause chaos within ourselves and in our Universe….

The book that Airplane guy wrote down for me was “The Science and Practice of Humility” by Jason Gregory.  It turns out that Jason is a teacher and international speaker specializing in the fields of Eastern and Western philosophy, comparative religion, metaphysics, and ancient cultures, studying the masters in Buddhism, Gnosticism, Hermeticism, Hinduism, and Taoism and produced the Sacred Sound of Creation.”  I have gathered and would like to share some concepts as I understood them, as well as excerpts from his book.  I found it all quite interesting and believe it to be my next stepping stone in my search for “Big Love.”

Jason Gregory says, “The mind is like a paint brush and the world we see is our canvas.  Mental alchemy is the art of manifestation, which is not as simple as thinking glorious thoughts.  Throughout the ages these teachings have given rise to the illusion that we can create our own reality by just focusing on what we want.  That is only an attempt to gain something in the material world to boost and perpetuate the ego.  It maintains the illusion of separation.  A mental projection coming from the ego won’t be what we truly want or need.  Such delusions will not result in the manifestation of our conscious projections.  In such a case attention will not be focused in one place, and there will be no force behind it to become a reality.  Those who attempt to create their own reality from the egotistical side of their psyche are no better than those who are not aware that they create their own reality.  Both are contributing to a collective projection of chaos and entropy because their mental states are not focused in one direction.”

The core of our spiritual awareness is to know that the universe is not separate from us but we are joined as one living, breathing conscious organism.  If we are the eyes of the universe, we see that all of the war and discord on one level is actually harmony on a higher level.  The chaos is necessary and is the rhythm of the eternal harmony.

                     ALCHEMY AND THE PHYSICAL PLANE

Physical Relationship Relative to Subatomic Particles:

Most of our problems throughout the cosmos originate from our not understanding how subatomically our world is connected to our thoughts and emotions.  “Subatomic particles are controlled by the mental plane of consciousness, which creates the physical world.”  Thus we create the reality we experience, every moment of it.  We are distracted by ego, which focuses on the inauthentic “love and light” and wants only to experience pleasant realities.

Physical Projection and Mental Alchemy::

If we can understand the energetic world, we will begin to understand why certain situations and events cross our paths.  Soon we will gain a deeper knowing and intuition.  The physical world is only energy driven and shaped from the mental plane by the energy of the mind.  Magnetic opposites, the physical and mental planes exist under a universal law that allows one to flow to the other.

“Physical matter is condensed energy formed and created by the force of the mind.  The wisdom traditions of eternity know we create our own reality…..focusing their energy on the mental plane toward conscious manifestation, they created an ancient science known as ‘mental alchemy.’  Alchemy is the science of turning mental thoughts into golden projections upon the physical world or, in other words, turning the lead of the ego into gold.”

To find out who you are, you can use the art of mental alchemy  by exploring your consciousness to discover the things that are natural to your inner being.  “Then your energy will naturally flow toward that passion and then your art will be expressed on the physical plane – hence you create your own reality.  One of the main goals in mental alchemy is exactly this discover of one’s purpose, which leads one down the path toward deeper realization of the true self that unfolds like a flower.”

EGO AND CHOAS

Focusing on Love and Light is not the answer:

He says,  that individuals who believe they are creating their own reality by just focusing on ‘love and light’ while ignoring our darker aspects of being, are contributing to the disruption and chaos. “The result of ignorance within our being is that the subatomic world we create manifests as the physical world in a perpetual state of war.  This stimulates a deep fear of all life, which maintains the illusion of separation.  War is nothing more than a symptom of an individual’s conditional psyche projected into the physical plane.”

Duality and the price we pay in our search for Pleasure only:

We are focused on the illusion, as human beings, of being separate.  This breeds fear but fear is not the enemy.  Fear can be a guide to become more humble.  We do not want to feel fear or pain, so we control that instinct by seeking pleasure.  This is a control based on duality and denies that the existence of both pain and pleasure are not really separate feelings.  Pain can only exist because we know pleasure and vice versus.

If we truly knew this and were able to genuinely embrace both, then we would not be gripped by fear and pain.  When we identify with pleasure, we then cling to it, trying to hold on; but this only contributes to a form of suffering.  In actuality, the moment we seek to hold on, we have lost the pleasure of being in that moment of pleasure.  We become so attuned to the false ego that this creates the disharmonic state of mankind.

Healing Chaos:

We want to believe that the chaos of the world –such as political, social, or religious–can be rectified leading us to our next evolutionary step.  Evolution is dependent upon the growth of the individual and not the order of a society.  Dwelling within the body-mind state of consciousness, we are trying to heal a chaotic world with a chaotic mind.  When we believe they we are the identity of ego, we believe in separation.  Separation is the seed of chaos.   The flaw exists in all of us and our world is a reflection of that.

SEPARATION FROM EACH OTHER AND GAIA

Most of us do not understand that we are part of Earth, not separate from it.  That belief is apparent today more than ever as we challenge, insult and destroy our planet, our home, thinking of it as a place to live without truly knowing that it is ‘conscious intelligence’.  Ego is a manufactured mental program that operates within most sentient beings, keeping the physical plane in a state of chaos. We see the planet in a narrow form and don’t see ourselves as an integral part of a grand planetary unfoldment.   “Ego is the ultimate extension of a planetary system’s sensitivity” but cannot see that the universe is constantly unfolding.  Nothing begins and nothing ends. It just changes.

We accept the illusion that the source of the universe and eternity are found outside of our consciousness in the external world.  This includes socially accepted slavery through transactions to obtain what we call money.  This makes us even more separate in what often appears to be a dog eat dog world.

Duality and Ego Transcendence:

“The duality existing within the mental framework is built on the premise that there is the false ego and the true self.  The problem with this view is the fact that the ego does not exist.  Many people who tread the path of spiritual cultivation make a common mistake in this view of their own mental framework-after identifying the ego chattering within their head, they set out to battle against it.  Some arrogantly set off to transcend the mind, not realizing that nothing is more egotistic than that.”

To transcend the mind, we must empty our mind in order to reestablish connection with the spiritual plane.  This is the only space where duality no longer exists and opposites within and without dissolve.

Separation and Conflict:

“Humility allows the universe to be what it is, looking upon it with the same clarity as the child who sees the world with no boundaries. As the dance of chaos continues, the humble individual is unfazed, as they do not doubt their own experience.  The idea that the world needs to be saved is a conditional opinion, based on our fears and anxieties, which feed our ego.  The opinion of one is the opposite of another, which fuels conflict.”

SO WHAT ABOUT BIG LOVE?

It’s Bigger than carnal Love:

Throughout the ages, a collective parasite has infected us with the illusion that carnal love is real love.” Believing that our animal drives are love suppresses the evolution of consciousness.”  True Love is limitless and sexual desire is a distant cousin which only ties us to the animal kingdom.

Conditional vs. Unconditional Love:

“Loving an individual or some object is conditioned by ideas and opinions about how the other and object should be”.  This is not the attuned and receptive nature of the universe, thus it cannot be humility or love.  “What love truly is cannot be experienced unless one is humbly receptive to all experience.”  When we finally truthfully realize that love is unconditional, and not bound by the limitations of our judgments, only then can we let go of the common conceptual idea of love.  In the great work of eternity, if we can truly let love go, then our real love will become present. False love is also a symptom of the illusion that the great work of eternity is in the external world.”

Every person who I’ve met that has experienced a “Near Death Experience” or every NDE’r who’s book I have read, talks about the profound understanding that all of us are connected and how they can suddenly telepathically understand everyone else.

Jason says, “One of the resulting insights into consciousness is that even though individuals appear separate from all life in the physical plane, we are more intrinsically interwoven into the fabric of matter than we can imagine.  In this pure seeing we can gain knowledge that we are not only an integral part of the cosmos, but are in truth the eyes and the ears of the cosmos and planet Earth.”

From Lao-tzu’s eternal scripture the Tao Te Ching, on Duality

When people see some things as beautiful,

other things become ugly.

When people see some things as good,

other things become bad.

Being and no-being create each other.

Difficult and easy support each other.

Long and Short define each other.

High and low depend on each other.

Before and after follow each other.

Therefore the Master

acts without doing anything

and teaches without saying anything.

Things arise and she lets them come;

things disappear and she lets them go.

She has but doesn’t possess,

acts but don’t expect.

When her work is done, she forgets it.

That is why it lasts forever. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE YOUNG POPE- Part II

young-pope

…..Abandoned by his parents at a young age, The Young Pope daydreamed about the perfection of that first love, of a particular day in Colorado by a lake when life was all good and he basked in the love of his parents for him and for each other.  The unmet expectation of this everlasting love from a child’s point of view ultimately broke his heart.  His parents dropped him at an Orphanage telling him they had to go to Venice.  They never came back.

As a young adult, Lenny was filled with anger, shame and despair.  He prayed to and sometimes yelled at a God he was not sure existed or heard him.  He was able to perform unexplained miracles for others when he could not mend the pain of his own aching heart.  He lived his life through the eyes of that pain. 

As he gave his first public speech, and perhaps his last, he caught a glimpse of his parents turning their backs on him once more and disappearing into the crowd.  This unhealed pain, still living within his heart took him to his knees……

As Christians we are told from a very young age that God is love. But God, the unsolved mystery, is not a concept we can possibly fully grasp. The Young Pope movie gave me pause to think a little more about how God’s love is so often experienced and refracted through the lens of love we are shown, (or not shown) by the people who raised us initially, our first Gods.  As children we could feel love if love was present; but few of us can claim to understand love, especially unconditional love, any more than we understand what God is, where he is or “who God is”.

Lenny was like so many of us who have perceived abandonment, in some way or another, during some point in our lives.  But, for Lenny or kids who are adopted, it’s an entirely understandable and blatant form of abandonment. The only thing a child can “think” or intuit is that they are not worthy of love. Ironically, we were taught conditional love by others and then we grew up to love ourselves just as conditionally as did our parents.  Until we can choose differently, going forward, we will bring others into our lives who rarely are capable of loving us more than we are able to love ourselves.  And, we are unable to love ourselves until we first accept the light and shadow sides of our existence; until we can integrate our subconscious and conscious minds.

Infants presumably have been imprinted with the love vibration of God but must feel the jolt of being thrust into this altered dimensional reality. Ultimately, they will be bombarded and impacted by the introduction of a plethora of lower frequencies during their infancy. Few of us, as parents realized that we were imprinting in our children our own emotional neuropathways (and baggage) just as our mother had imprinted her’s while we were invetro. With emotion our first and only language, we felt the emotions of others as if they were our own.

While we may have been too young to process the things that happened to us in our first seven years, egocentrically we knew it had everything to do with us. The love we experience as a human being is conditional, sometimes more in some cases then others. I can’t imagine that there is one among us that has not felt the sting of abandonment at some time in our life.  Most times these feelings of abandonment are perceived by a young mind, too immature to process what is really happening.  Because emotion is our first and only language during our first few years, we were incapable of profound or mature rationalization.  This is why Lenny, a grown man, was reduced to a flood of tears not unlike that of a child when he was rejected once more by his parents.  This is why when emotions become raw, many times we respond from the perspective of our injured child, throwing an irrational tantrum.

You were probably told somewhere along the way that you were bad.  You may have felt that you were not the perfect child or that your sibling was loved more than you.  Maybe you felt stupid or clumsy or ugly.  Maybe you coped by soliciting trouble, whining or complaining in order to get attention from your parents, teachers, or peers.  Even though, ashamed, you knew it didn’t make others want to be around you, at least you got some form of attention.  I’m guessing that unworthiness undermines love, to some degree, in every experience of being human.

As we grow older, we play out these same imprinted underlying beliefs over and over; attracting different situations and people into our lives that will provide us yet another opportunity to see that we are worthy of acceptance and love after all.  The only one that we ever needed to prove it to all along was ourselves.

While we may not even remember most of the circumstances that undermined our beliefs about love and ourselves growing up, rest assured, they are indelibly recorded, every word and every image. We are like puppets on a string being played by a master puppeteer who knows things about our lives that we may not even know exist because they were so deeply suppressed.  That puppeteer is our subconscious self.

Perhaps we came to this incarnation to experience the exhilaration of being rich, madly in love, powerful and/or famous. Even though I doubt we stood before God on the other side and said, I want to go to Earth to experience being a Pedophile in the Catholic Church, or to feel shame and helpless against addiction, anything is possible.  As intrepid Spirits who wanted to learn the fast way, perhaps this is exactly what our higher self needed to experience.  These difficult experiences may be just the catalyst necessary in order to truly know and love ourselves inside our human experiences.

In the movie, Juana, a young blessed saint told the children, “God does not allow himself to be seen, God does not shout, God does not whisper, God does not write, God does not hear, God does not comfort us”. Although we may want to believe that God exists, loves us, hears us and will save us; in reality all we really have is our faith.  So perhaps, the answer to “who is God?” as given by Juana is as good as any, “God smiles.”  Maybe that is as close as we ever come to God …. the feeling that we get when we smile through the eyes of our soul.

THE YOUNG POPE-Part I

young-pope

After my “Young Pope” Marathon this weekend, I imagine I was not alone wondering if Lenny, known as Pius XIII, was a Saint. Or was he diabolical and somehow miraculously voted in as Pope? Did he become Pope against all odds because God willed it in those final moments of his fervent prayers? Or was the vote rigged and manipulated on behalf of others in power? I know I’m not the only one who thought that there might be some parallels between the institution of the Church, or Vatican, and the climate of our latest U.S. election. That’s the beauty of the creative people of Hollywood or maybe it’s all just in my mind.

For me, this question of political environments and the question of “Who is God,” are parallel topics of exploration and, as always, writing is my tool for excavation. I know one thing about politics and that one thing is that it is way too huge for me to wrap my mind around. I am not deluded enough to believe I am capable of being unbiased and objective. I don’t pretend that I could possibly know the problems that face those who choose to be in office. I have no idea just how corrupt, greedy and diabolical the world governments are, but I’ve seen evidences that support some of the conspiracy theories.   So, the question is, if we don’t truly know the big picture, how can we promote change?   Instead of being a member of the flock, throwing out accusations and judgments that only seem to add fuel to the fear and the problem, what are our options?

There are a lot of people a lot smarter than I am that seem to be flinging their arms up in despair.  Of course, I too want change. I trust we all do. My question is, if we don’t get outside that political box where people are bought, and where power, greed and control has in the past tainted even the best of intensions, how can change ever manifest? Do we hope for a miracle?  Maybe this entire bar-rattling and foundation-shaking experience is a necessary first step even if the pendulum swings wildly out of balance for some interim amount of time?

With that being said, I’m not suggesting we pop some corn and sit back and watch the movie (or the horror show) unfold. Yet, I can’t help wondering if this is yet another invitation, similar to the one we experienced after 911; an opportunity to see the good in people who step forward and bond together in their common causes? To be a voice and to be heard in ways that don’t contribute to the problem.  As they say, we have to be the solution and not buy into  violence, hatred, fear, control and greed; the very things we want changed in the first place.  And consider the possibility that Einstein was right, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

What if it’s true, that the foremost progressive first step we can take in the direction of change is to become the catalyst for change within ourselves? And in so becoming that platform for change, are we willing and capable of being forthright, honest and our authentic selves? Can we recognize our own weaknesses; the duality of being corporal, the gifts of being incarnate? Or do we believe we are just one side of the coin, the shiny side?

We live on a plane of duality. If in fact, what I’m hearing from those who have experienced Near Death Experiences, we are all connected, then we ALL must be all things, the Saint and at the same time, the thief.  If we only focus on love and light and push away our shadow sides, how can we fully achieve self-love with disowned parts of ourselves lurking in dark places?  (To learn more, watch for the Golden Egg, Part III coming soon).

So, as in the Pope’s final speech, ask yourself the hard questions.   Are you good or bad? Peaceful or violent? Happy or sad? Sane or insane?   Are you honest and, at the same time have you lied your ass off?  Are you good or are you self-serving? (Did you vote for promises to lower your taxes at the expense of others or the planet?) And, if so, are you willing to accept your responsibility in the future and step into the fires of sacrifice so that our children have an opportunity to thrive as we did?

Are you over identified with your positive characteristics, while you frantically push your shadow sides deeper into the recesses, a place where they may never see the light of acceptance and the alchemy of integration?  If we were pure love, could we hate ourselves, let our neighbor starve and allow our sons to fight in “fake, self-serving” wars,  or would we stand united in the good for all?

And, what IF this is an opportunity to smile, even through our tears? To love in spite of everything? Out of the worst circumstances, you can learn new perspectives. Out of the darkest storms, there will eventually come streamers of light and hope. There was a time that I would have questioned that after my son died. I was filled with so much despair; I couldn’t imagine there would be light once more. I was a person, a year later, standing on the edge of that precipice, ready to jump. But just as every silver lining has a cloud, every cloud has a silver lining.

…….TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW ABOUT DUALITY, LOVE, ABANDONMENT AND PURPOSE…..How could The Young Pope heal and perform miracles for others when he couldn’t heal his own broken heart?

 

 

ALCHEMY AND THE GOLDEN EGG- Part II

golden-egg

…A year ago, I met this stranger on an airplane….

He was a handsome man about my age.  He sat by the window listening to music and didn’t look up as I crawled clumsily over the isle guy, falling into the middle seat next to him.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m about the same in airplanes as elevators, not especially social; but he didn’t even glance up for a perfunctory “hello.”

In mid-flight, I was trying to get my book out of my carry-on under the seat in front of me.  Of course, the seat in front of me was by now in a ‘laid back relax’ mode.   We all know what that means.  When you try to reach your bag, you can’t get your head forward enough without hitting the seat in front of you; so you either need monkey arms or you need to be flexible like a contortionist.  Struggling, I believe my head was practically in Airplane guys lap before he finally took his ear buds out.

We exchanged about five minutes of small talk; maybe ten.  Isn’t it funny that this is how it happens, some of the profound moments of your life?  Speaking of profound, during that time I must have said something insightful because he admitted he hated talking to people on the airplane.  He said that whatever I had said changed his view about something that apparently impacted him deeply.  Whatever it was, I’m sure it was ‘of me” but not “from me’ as I have no recollection of what I might have said. He then told me to pick up a copy of a book. He scribbled the title of this book on a tiny, itsy bitsy yellow stick um pad.  With a flourish he added his email address below it and reattached his ear buds to his head.  I was flattered and always thought I might email him.  Secretly, I think he hoped I would too.

About a year later, I discovered that little scrap of paper in one of my purses, along with all kinds of other notes and random cards, most of which meant absolutely nothing to me by then.  After scrutiny I remembered from whence this particular yellow sticky note originated.  By now it was ‘mile weary’ with lint, lip gloss and other purse goo on it.  I could just barely make out the title of the book let alone his email address. Alas, romance must have not been in the stars. It must have been all about “the book”.

Nonetheless, I stuck the note on my office desk for a few more months in a “to-do” stack that I usually shuffle around occasionally until I can finally just discard it. One day, with my hand paused over the trash can, Spirit said, “Just order that darned book already!” So I did.  It must be incredibly frustrating trying to get people on the physical plane to do things that would actually help them ‘evolve’. First my Spirit Guide had to imprint Airplane guy’s mind, “tell her about the book-you know the one.”  Then Spirit had to implant the idea that I should clean out my purse, something no one wants to do. Finally, my mind needed to be imprinted one more time before I actually ordered the book. Let’s just call this concept Synchronicity even though it may just be a popular anti-coincidence theory.

About this same time, out of nowhere, like most things I write about, I started excavating a piece I called “What’s Love Got to Do with It”?  Man, I must have re-envisioned, re-structured and rewritten that thing a million times over three months.  Love is such a big topic that the entire project just became unwieldy; after all, purportedly Love is all there is. Finally, I realized that even though I knew a lot about love, not necessarily all the good kinds, that the love I really wanted to know about now was “the BIG love that only God knew.”  I was ready to leap in with both feet to become a ‘Big Love’ expert. Problem was, I had no idea how to get there from where I was.

Ironically, though, while I was writing “What’s Love Got to Do with It?” it seemed like every week (or day) some random person or source would say, “You can’t love someone else until you love yourself.”  The first couple of times I thought, “Whatever!”  Then I began to think, “What the heck is going on here?” For example, some guy I barely knew passed me in the hall at the movie theatre coming from the men’s room while I exited the ladies room. “Hey, how are you?” Within two sentences he mentioned he was visiting his daughter and out of the blue she had asked him, “Dad, do you love yourself?” This caused a conversation to ensue, of course. Coincidence? I don’t think so.  Curious and Curiouser.

Actually, that whole love yourself cliché always kind of pissed me off, to be honest. Deep down, I was a pretty harsh critic when it came to me. Twenty years ago, when this cliché theory originated, I remember looking in the mirror like Stuart Smalley taught us on Saturday Nite Live. He would say, “I’m good enough. I’m smart enough and dog gone it, people like me.”   With tenderness, I looked into my eyes in the reflection of a hand held mirror and said, “I love you.” My higher self must have been out flying around the universe so Ego took the call. Not buying it, instantly I hear that annoying voice, “Jeesh, when is the last time you plucked your eyebrows anyway?”

A few months ago I was chatting with my son through a psychic, which occasionally I do one anniversary date or another. He was apologizing for sending crazy people (as he called them) my way because he thought somehow I could help them. I said, “Chad, instead of ‘crazies’, why don’t you send me someone to love?   A boyfriend perhaps? It’s been a really long time and it would be nice to have someone authentic to love.” What do you think Chad said? “I’ll work on that but first”….(you got it)…. “You have to love yourself.” “Damn it, really? Arrrggh!” The psychic laughed and said, “I knew you were going to hate that”; but she did give me a good parting tip. She said, “Start out by making love an action” (verb instead of noun). “It’ll catch on and grow.”

So here I am, searching for Big Love. I had no experience with how to really go about loving myself.  Furthermore, I strongly surmised that the big love that I was now seeking was a whole lot bigger and, maybe even simpler then the convoluted conditional kind that I had known while walking around in my flesh suit.

During this time, I was called to go see Anita Moorijani, author of “Dying to Be Me”, when she visited Denver. Afraid of cancer her entire life, she did everything healthy to avoid getting it. Ironically, she died while in a coma after all of her organs shut down after a long battle with cancer. She flat lined. When she came back into her body, one of the messages she had been given from the ‘other side’, where time doesn’t exist, was to share that our purpose here on this planet is to learn how to love ourselves. I would add to that, loving ourselves throughout every experience life has to offer; the good, the bad and the ugly. There it is, officially gospel. OK, ok, I got it! But how do you do it and how long is this gonna take? I bet there are secrets, Jedi Mind tricks, in this new book that Airplane guy turned me on to. By the way, Anita recovered miraculously from her cancer completely in just a few weeks.

Since I write as an exercise of discovery, I’m sharing just in case the concept of love is befuddling to you too. I know there are a lot of people out there that have this one ‘all figured out’. They are the same ones that keep telling me to go into the light. I spent a lifetime looking in all the wrong places for sure.

So, that’s the back story about how my latest topic the Golden Egg came about.   Alchemy feels like giving birth and if I’m lucky, it just might be a HOT molten Golden Egg or maybe a Nugget would be good. Therefore, I hope the book has some important and interesting messages for us on physicality and “What Love has Got to do with it.” Stay tuned for the conclusion (Part III) of the Golden Egg.

Until then, I’ll leave you with this thought provoking piece from ― Jack Kerouac

“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.”

 

 

 

 

I’M NOT MOTHER GOOSE AND I DON’T LAY GOLDEN EGGS

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MOTHER GOOSE ON THE LOOSE

…but I’d damned sure like to!  My spiritual evolution has felt a lot like I imagine a goose feels trying to pop an egg or two out every day.  It probably takes focus.  In order to make an egg, you have to practice some sustaining daily processes, like eating grass or laying in it.  You probably have to go sit on a nest or a meditation cushion because it’s hard to lay an egg when you’re running around like a mad goose, honking at people that get in your space.  It might be a little uncomfortable at times.  You might get up and craning your neck, take a peek at your new offspring, the result of all of your hard labor, only to see a white or brown egg instead of a Golden one.  With a sigh you might say, “God, with all of this work, shouldn’t there at least be some Gold speckles in this stupid egg?”

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So, I’m beginning to get a strong hint that I’m just about one hundred and eighty degrees off on all of my self help, self love, healing practices.  Or maybe as “Grasshoppers”, we have to take certain baby hops in order to see the over the next hill?  I’ve taken years of classes about energy and energy work.  I spent thousands of dollars sitting on my ass on a little hard pillow while most people experience life from the outside in (one of God’s other plans) by going sightseeing and sky or deep sea diving around the world.  Ok, I did get to see some pretty awesome countries… I just wanted you to feel sorry for me.

If someone asks, I’d say, “yes, I meditate every day for at least twenty minutes”.  Well, mostly that’s true.  I light the candles and incense (did you know that the purpose of incense is to clear energy fields?  I was told that in India last year by the Monk I was studying under.  Who knew-I just thought it smelled good and put me in a good mood).  Some days my little timer goes off and I open my eyes to the sudden and disappointing  realization that I just sat there and thought for twenty minutes with my eyes closed.

Ego….you can’t live with it and you can’t survive without it.  It’s like a neurotic roommate following you around from room to room.  A running commentary on everything.  “Oh look at the snow.  Shit, I have to shovel… late to work  again….you can’t afford…blah blah blah.”  Commenting on everything, every move I make,  judging me (“why are you eating that?”, talking incessantly through an entire movie (“this movie sucks, you know how it’s going to end.  Turn the channel…now!!”)  But that’s another story for another day.

Here’s what I’ve discovered as my next very important big step to the moon.  Perhaps you saw hints of this in my post for “Rocketman Love”.  White is made up of all colors and darkness is a part of the light….a big part.  So, I’ve surrounded myself by many self promoting “Spiritualists” who have a lot of advice for others.  It’s easy to see all the shit I do wrong-even I can see it.  What I’ve been hearing them say is such things as, “Thoughts are things.  Watch your thoughts.  You will create what you believe you deserve not what you deserve.  Negative thoughts will create a negative reality”, etc.  OK I got that!  And, I think that’s true.

About a year ago, God upped the ante, suggested my next “hop” on the way to the Golden Egg.  I had dinner with a very strongly opinioned local French girl who had a near death experience, not at dinner but skiing in Vail when she was young.  She said, “you probably meditate all wrong”.  My ego reacted with self righteousness, “how dare she!”  As I explained, politely for the most part,  that she was full of shit because every day I did this routine…blah blah blah.  She said you’re chasing the good feelings, the light (well, who wouldn’t want to do that, that’s the point, right?); but what about really feeling the dark shadow side?”  (These are my words, not her exact words).   I’m thinking where you focus is what your reality becomes.  Where your energy level is, is the place from which you create your thoughts, emotions, your projections, your reality.   Well, they say, when you’re ready, the teacher appears.  I seem to have a flock of them, dropping out of the sky, showing up at the end of my driveway or behind the barn.  I pay attention to some of them right away and others….maybe I have an “Aha” moment a year or two later.

A year ago, I met this stranger on an airplane….”stay tuned for THE GOLDEN EGG.”  You won’t want to miss this.

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A VIEW FROM THE EDGE- HE SAID – SHE SAID PART I: PREFACE

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“That day was like the Perfect Storm, and like a Perfect Storm, it took just the right elements all descending down upon him at once. Tragedy isn’t always some random event that as (bad) luck would have it, just happens one day…”

PREFACE

I have a lot of thoughts to share that I believe could make a difference in the lives of others; things I wish someone could have shared with me as I went through the frustrations of trying to figure everything out for myself. Sometimes you don’t have the luxury of time to “reinvent the wheel.”  I know I didn’t! 

I’m grateful to have this opportunity and encouragement to update the statistics concerning the topics initially published in Chad’s Website. With the research I am now gathering, you will see that more, not less, people are struggling every day.   While there is significantly more awareness around the individuals who have been labeled Bipolar, ADD/ADHD, Autistic, and Depressed (hereinafter referred to by me as “Sensitives”), the statistics don’t support a proportionate amount of healing.   I’ll publish them later this week.  I think they will surprise you.  They did me.

I freely admit after my personal experiences with the Medical, Educational, Governmental Control Agencies and Rehabilitation Industries, I have some rather strong biases with regard to their Disease and Disorder Models and Treatments. I believe that individuals who are  “Sensitives” and, the people who love them, have many times been exploited. I can see the ways that these industries are or can be self serving, i.e. the “patient’s failure”, lines their coffers.  While I believe their initial intensions are good;  all they really have to do in order to be successful is to have better success rates then the next place.  As we all know, statistics and success rates are easily skewed. 

In Iowa, where I was raised, we used to have a saying, “you can’t make a pig dance.”  At the same time, these industries can’t do what they don’t know how to do.  Although there is no easy answers, the best solutions that we currently have to offer are clearly missing the mark.  Even though it’s challenging to see it with the “old ways and powers holding on tight”, we are evolving very quickly now.   I believe we are right on the cusp of a Paradigm Shift and the “Sensitives” are the way showers.

Since Chad’s story ended with Suicide, I may as well start there. I will work my way backwards to the beginning, where all stories begin (see potential forthcoming topics at the bottom of the page).  I would like to urge you to take what resonates with you and research it for yourself to see what you discover.  As always, I’m open to comments, questions and discussions.

SNEAK PREVIEW- COMING SOON

 HE SAID-SHE SAID

Chad will be speaking for himself from the “He Said” part of each story. I will copy excerpts from his Life Story, not necessarily in the order it was written, but as it may shed light upon a given topic.  From the “She Said” part of the story, I will be writing from my point of view. 

Chad’s story will give you a better idea of what it was like to walk in his shoes or perhaps what your child or teenager may be going through. There are so many things I found out after the fact, things written by Chad, and yes, things that were channeled.  Chad’s Story was only eight pages long, and was channeled just months after we found his body. His lifelong best friends said it was eerie because it sounded exactly like him and it shared things no one else could know.

POSSIBLE TOPICS TO FOLLOW:

  • The Beginning: Imprinted emotional Neuropathways during the first seven years of life;
  • ADD/HD: Behaviors and being sensitive to being victimized; 
  • ADD/HD and Learning Challenges: Education the critical part that learning and self esteem issues play with regard to successful integration of “Sensitives” into Society
  • ADD/HD Brain chemistry/imbalancespros and cons of Pharmaceuticals, holistic treatments, and self-medication
  • Addiction:   AA and Rehabilitation Methodology and Success rates
  • Grief:  The process of Grieving and Surviving the Legacy of Suicide and losing a child
  • Spiritual Growth-There is Life after Death
  • The Other Side:  Stories of connecting with Chad on the Other side

 

 

 

OLD INUIT SONG

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This prayer is one to remember in times when your challenges seem so large that you can’t find your way out.  Go back to the heart and be grateful for the simple things that matter, your loved ones and the gift of another day

Prayer at Time of Adversity

 

I think over again my small adventures,

My fears,

Those small ones that seemed so big,

For all the vital things

I had to get and to reach,

And yet there is only one great thing,

The only thing,

To live to see the great day that dawns

And the light that fills the world.

 

 

What’s Love Got to Do With It?

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I’m being called to write about Love because really love has everything to do with everything. Tina Turner sang, “Love is just a second hand emotion. Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?” Bette Midler sang, “Some say love, it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed, a hunger, an endless aching need.” Dionne Warwick sang, “What the world needs now is love, sweet love.”  The Beatles sang, “Love, love, love.  Love is all you need”.  Emmanuel Kelly, a war victim as a child, courageously sang John Lennon’s, “Imagine all the people living life in Peace”.  And, one of my favorites is the project U.S.A. for Africa of 2010, which brought together all of the greatest musicians, many who have since passed, to sing, “We are the world, we are the children.  There is a choice we are making.  We’re saving our own lives.  We make a better day…just you and me….so let’s start giving. You know, love is all we need.”  What if all of mankind could come together as one as did these musicians.  What beautiful music, art and love we could make together as we each contribute our individual gifts. Continue reading What’s Love Got to Do With It?

About a Horse

Espresso for Expresso

∪♥Espresso for Espresso♥∪

I bought her on an impulse, an afterthought really. She wasn’t on the website or really even for sale, for that matter.  Her name was ‘Hot Coco’.  Timid and a little high strung, it wouldn’t be long before she became known as ‘Espresso’, a name that more aptly fit her personality and style, and at the same time resonated with my coffee addiction.  She was a bay with two white socks and a cute little white snip on her nose.  Her eyes were deep and kind.  When I whispered to the wiry old Mexican wrangler, “Which one of these horses is your favorite to ride?” without hesitation he pointed to her.  She was standing docilely in a dirt pen under a shade tree.  He said, “I’d take her above all the rest”.   Squinting into the sun, I frowned at the thought of owning another mare.  She was half dozing while swishing flies with her long, black tail; and I noted that she was not nearly as pretty as the others.  “Why?”  I asked the hired hand.  He replied simply, “Because she has heart.”

She was a leggy eight year old Tennessee Walker in the prime of her life. Her shiny coat was as dark and rich as her new name implied.  Later I learned that, unlike the other horses, she wasn’t registered.   Therefore, I was able to purchase her for a good deal less than Blaze, the Kentucky Mountain horse that I had travelled all the way to Santa Fe to pick up.   “I’m sure it was just a fluke,” I thought as I recalled that she was the horse that had stumbled and fallen all the way to her knees the first day that I rode her.   “With a bit of luck she will be a shining star rather than a star gazer,” I thought, amused.  Even though, she had fallen into my hands quite accidentally from the heavens that day, it would not be the first or the last time I would see her fall.

Autumn announced itself suddenly that year as do most seasons in the high Rocky Mountains.  Hot days coupled with unseasonably clear, cold nights that dipped near freezing, resulted in a much earlier fall than usual. It just so happened that it was also one of the most beautiful I could remember.  The high desert landscape was accented with golden yarrow, silver tasseled sage and bouquets of delicate purple asters strewn among the pinion pines.   The extreme temperature swings not only presented autumn in all its glory but also brought distress to the horses in the mountain valleys.

My new mare was a timid soul and even though she wasn’t perfect, she didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She may not have been beautiful at first sight but before long I absolutely fell in love with simply watching her move as she proudly pranced beside Blaze. Her gait was fast and she was high stepping, able to cover twice the ground that Blaze could without breaking her stride.  While Blaze, on the other hand, was lazy and broke all the rules; he was definitely more attuned to rougher terrain then she.  Oftentimes, as she pranced along beside us so magnificently I thought, surely in a former life, this horse belonged to a debutante living in the grandeur of one of the Southern plantations.  Just about the time that thought crossed my mind, she would have a little misstep and stumble.  Almost embarrassed for her, I’d smile and shake my head thinking that one of those southern debutants, riding side saddle in all her finery, just might have ended up in a mud puddle when she least expected it.

Blaze was Espresso’s only pasture mate. He was a ‘proud cut’ gelding, meaning he remained a stallion longer than is usual for stock that wouldn’t be bred.  With some of the remaining temperament and independence of a stallion, therefore, he forever bullied her as the only member of his herd.  Even though they became kindred spirits, being in a herd seemed more important to her then it was to him.  Instinctually a creature of the wind, her wide set eyes allowed her extensive peripheral vision as is critical for most prey animals. Oftentimes while grazing in the stillness of the dawn or evening, I would catch her suddenly lifting her head to quickly scan the pasture until she located him before lowering her head to safely graze once more.

I was never afraid to put a beginner on Espresso’s back because she had proven that she would take good care of them.  She was the smoothest horse I’ve ever ridden, which provided even a novice with confidence in their ability to ride.  One day my roommate who knew nothing of the secret ways of horses decided to ride off in the opposite direction from Blaze and me. It’s always a good practice to ask horses to go in different directions even though it’s against their herd ‘fight or flight’ survival instinct.  What my roommate didn’t know was that giving Espresso permission to run flat out to catch up with us once more wasn’t that great of an idea.  When they came to a fork in the path, he assumed they would go right as she continued on the straight and narrow path that curved slightly to the left.  Luckily he knew how to roll and looking much like desert tumbleweed, he finally sprawled to a stop, unhurt.  Instead of continuing on her mission to catch up with Blaze, which I would have totally expected of any horse, Espresso stopped in her tracks and putting her head down, nuzzled him as if to say, “What happened? What are you doing down there?”

Espresso wasn’t quite as gentle with my American bulldog, Tess, however. Of course, Bulldogs, bred for Bull-baiting and aggression, are physically resilient and stubbornly persistent most of the time.  When I wasn’t watching, Tess loved to terrorize the horses any time that they ran by, taking up the chase.  Espresso’s prey instinct was as highly attuned as was Tess’s predator instinct.  I noticed that while Tess seemed to be in it for the fun, however, my mare was genuinely threatened by the dog.   More than once when I called Tess back, Espresso would indignantly spin on her hind legs, rearing up, front legs slashing, mane unfurling in the wind.  Then with a warning squeal, she’d strike out with her front legs at lightning speed or spinning around, nip at Tess with deadly accuracy.  Luckily Tess was fast and generally escaped any consequence that is with the exception of the time she made the mistake of nipping at Espresso’s heels while I was in the saddle.   I heard a loud thhhwwwaack!  When I turned to see what had caused the sound, what I saw was my bulldog shaking her great block head slightly.  Just like in the cartoons, I imagine she was seeing little birdies circling before her eyes.   Nonetheless, it appeared that she had withstood the impact of the perfectly aimed hoof without consequence or even a whimper, for that matter.

One of the first things I did routinely each morning was peek out of the upstairs windows until I could spot the horses in the pasture below, making sure everything was kosher. On this particular September morning I spotted Espresso in the early light of dawn.  She was lying down alone; and Blaze, her pasture mate, was nowhere to be seen.  A horse lying down during the night or in the chill of early morning was totally out of character.  My heart skipped a beat.   I threw on my clothes from the night before, and half dressed, raced the short distance to the pasture.  When she saw me coming down the bank of the irrigation ditch, she struggled to her feet and for a brief moment of relief I thought she might be alright.  My relief was short lived, however.  With a squeal she suddenly fell back to the ground rolling onto her back.  I was terrified.  Had she broken a leg?  Unable to keep my eyes off her, I slipped on a thin layer of ice as I ran across a make shift bridge causing me to nearly plunge into the icy irrigation water.   Upon reaching Espresso’s side, she stretched her long legs out in front of her; and with a groan, she made a valiant effort to once more clamber to her feet.

Oftentimes late at night from my open window, I would hear the big irrigation pump when it switched on above the irrigation vault. As the big rain bird sprinklers suddenly popped up there could be heard a hissing sound as they released trapped air and water.  This was quickly followed by the rhythmic tick, tick, ticking of the spinning heads.  Gaited horses seemed to be much spookier than the more reliable quarter horses that I had been accustomed to.  Inevitably, at the first click when the pump switched on, I could expect to simultaneously hear the sudden sound of thundering hooves as the panicked horses raced across the pasture for the protection of the barn.  As they neared safety from the perceived monsters chasing them, I could expect to hear one last big splash as they crossed the wide ditch.  I could then go back to sleep knowing they would be in the paddock for the next several hours.  It was this nightly ritual and my awareness of the distress these sprinklers caused the horses that made my heart freeze when I first spotted my mare that morning. As I neared her and saw water dripping from her long mane, I knew that she must have been rendered completely helpless and terrified, hostage to the huge sprinklers in the early morning light.  When I reached her she was absolutely drenched and shaking uncontrollably.  Clearly unable to escape her biggest terror told me what I didn’t want to know; this was very serious.

I ran back for a lead rope and slowly coaxed Espresso to the barn, drying her off and quickly blanketing her in the sun so that she could recover from any hypothermia that was most likely racking her body. The next two days were a blur of vet calls, sleepless nights, IV’s and tubing fluids into Espresso’s stomach.  Espresso had colicked, which generally offers a fifty-fifty chance of survival at best.  In fact, the vet told me that oddly, just that week, five horses had colicked in the valley with only two survivors.  Horses really need to drink a lot of water to push the massive amount of grass and hay through their digestive systems.  Perhaps it had something to do with becoming dehydrated during the hot days and not drinking enough water when the nights and the drinking water were extremely cold.  Maybe it was just coincidence or bad luck.

My neighbors were amazing. Even though the vets have changed their theory about not letting colicky horses lie down, I stubbornly tried to maintain the procedures that had always worked in the past. For the first day and night we took turns walking and watching Espresso in shifts, diligently trying to keep her on her feet as much as possible in an effort to dissolve or dislodge the obstruction somewhere in her delicate GI tract.  It was believed that with the extreme discomfort of a big gas bubble, a horse would roll in an effort to relieve the excruciating pain. In doing so, there was always a risk that they could twist their gut, closing off a portion of their delicate digestive system.  Nonetheless, I remained hopeful based on my experience with my old lifelong best Quarter horse, a red dun named Salty Punk.  Salt had survived colic at least seven times that I was aware of, and most likely others that I had not been home to witness.  We coaxed Espresso to drink and offered her anything that might awaken her nonfunctioning system.  She was not interested.  The fact that she was able to eventually eliminate some of the grass that had remained inside her system, made my spirits soar.  When I placed my ear to her belly listening for the ordinary gurgles indicative of a healthy gut; however, the only sounds I heard were those of her labored breathing.

Over the long two days, as she continued to fight, there were some good signs and bad signs. As time marched on, the bad began to outweigh the good. Nonetheless, there was no doubt for any of us who vigilantly cared for her that she was putting up a valiant fight to stay here.  She was uncharacteristically tolerant of all of the intrusive procedures being routinely performed and of our urgent demands that she walk when she was in so much discomfort.  Usually walking beside Espresso as she pranced along was intimidating as her thudding hooves, like huge bowling balls, pounded the soil within inches of my cowboy boots.   For this reason I always felt far more secure on her back.  Now, in obedience, however, it was everything she had to simply follow us.  On reluctant hooves, she lagged behind at the very end of the lead rope.  Sometimes she would stop and lay down on the soft sandy trail within mere yards of my gate.   She gave her best to comply with our demands and wishes.  I wanted to believe that instinctively she knew we were trying to help her. She was an honest horse and I felt privileged to be by her side as she went through her many transitions even though it was a roller coaster of hope and heartbreak.

Quietly stroking her coat, already growing softer with the colder nights, I stood by her most of the day and checked on her a couple of times the second night, giving her a pain killer every few hours. It was with words of encouragement that I feel certain were more for me than for her, that I would assure her that she was going to be alright. I hoped that if I stayed positive and calm, she would sense my energy as she always did.  Yet, there were times that tears slipped from my eyes and I’m sure echoes of despair vibrated through my energy.  I praised her for how beautiful, honest and kind she was. I even told her the entire story of why I changed her name from Hot Cocoa to Espresso. After all, I was a storyteller and there was no one there during the darkness of the night to hear except her.

“It was a beautiful summer morning when you first arrived at the ranch”, I began. “It was such a long ride in the trailer for you.  But I think you guys thought it was worth it because you were no longer stuck in dirt pens eating hay.   You were fat and happy eating high sucrose rich mountain grass.  You could race around the pasture, feeling the warm sun on your backs and the wind in your manes.   One day you needed new shoes.  The Ferrier arrived early and I slept in late.   I had to quickly whistle you guys up.  But I didn’t have time to make my morning cappuccino. Argh! Not good!   Without coffee, I would have had no patience standing at the end of a lead rope for an hour.  Jesse got all of his equipment set up.  Just then Mike came out of the house and I begged him to make me a cup of coffee.  With a cappuccino in hand, I was happy and talking to Jesse.  Of course Tess and Maggie showed up on the scene, sniffing around for your hoof trimmings.  When I yelled at them to go back to the house, they just circled around and slunk  back in to grab another piece and hightail it out of there.  You know how they loved your stinky feet”, I told her with a smile.   “Without fail, I knew that they would puke hooves on my carpet the next morning. But they weren’t the only sneaky ones, Missy!  While I was distracted by the dogs, you were checking out my coffee.  You didn’t even jiggle my sleeve or the cup in my hand.  You probably smelled the sweet sugar sprinkled on the top of the cream.  I was just about to take a sip when I saw your long tongue all the way to the bottom of my coffee cup.  Yuk!  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  I laughed but was somewhat horrified.  Your tongue was green, you know, from eating grass.  I guess you liked the taste of the coffee.  I knew then that Espresso was the perfect name for you.  I also knew I was SOL because you killed my coffee buzz!”  In my exhaustion, I almost expected her to smile at my story and then realized I needed sleep more than I knew.

Nature itself, glorious and miraculous in blossom and birth, can be equally as cruel and heartless. For the better part of two days, I kept Blaze in the barn next to Espresso’s stall. They could touch as they leaned over the stall doors to nuzzle and nip at each other.  While he was much more independent in nature, she was fairly herd sour and became tense when he wasn’t nearby. He was the salve that kept her calm and she desperately needed to stay calm.  Normally, the two of them shared a large stall that was twelve feet deep and twenty four feet wide.  On the same day that Espresso had colicked, I had allowed Blaze to come and go from the big stall where she was tied as we worked on her.   I noticed that in one instant, for no particular reason, he was acting uncustomarily aggressive towards her.  In disbelief, I watched him back right up to her and start kicking her unmercifully when she couldn’t get away.  This act caused me to reflect once again on survival of the fittest and how cruel the nature of survival in the wild could be at times.  Or in its own way, was it the kindest path in the end?  I’d watched horses for years push other horses off their feed.  Blaze had become pretty decent with Espresso over time, only pushing her nose out of the hay rack initially until he had a little hay in his belly.  Before I understood how instinct worked, I would always try to control the situation and sometimes felt anger towards the survivors of the herd, always highest on the ‘pecking order’.  I had to wonder if perhaps since my gelding was proud cut, it was an act of instinct to run her from the rest of the herd, or even further wounding her, leave her incapable of following the herd?  Any wounded or sick animal would inevitably jeopardize the health of the rest, leaving them more vulnerable by attracting predators.

On the second afternoon, the vet had just stopped by and pumped more fluids into the Espresso’s stomach and added IV treatment to hydrate her further. She seemed calmer, which we couldn’t determine as either a good or bad sign at this point.   What we did know is that something needed to happen soon, very soon.  I took the opportunity to turn Blaze out for a while to graze on the pasture while my son and I, running behind on our fall projects, began painting a fence nearby.  Espresso, usually nervous, to say the least, whenever she and Blaze were separated, whinnied faintly and trotted the short distance from the barn to a small hillside where she could overlook the pasture.   After circling once, with a groan, she lay down clearly exhausted now after two full days of fighting for her life.  A wide white bandage to keep the IV site clean was wrapped around her neck.  In the sun, the white bandage lay stark against her black coat as she lay atop the hillside, watching her beloved mate grazing ravenously below.  Eventually, Espresso began to even doze sleepily as her recently injected pain killer began to take effect.  She dropped her nose to the ground and only occasionally would I see her lift her head to check for Blaze’s whereabouts.

I had not slept much in two nights and not at all during the last two days; or was it three now? I was not only irritable from lack of sleep but I knew that this was it; time was slipping away.  If Espresso couldn’t make some real come back and soon, any tissues that had not been able to be nourished were surely already starting to die.  The vet had reassured me that she would know when ‘that’ time had come and I trusted her.  Ironically, just as I had about run out of hope, Espresso had shown an interest in eating for the first time since she became sick.  Even though, that wasn’t a good idea, the gesture gave me a little much needed hope and I held on for life.

The next time I looked up on the hillside to see how Espresso was doing, I noticed that my bulldog, Tess, normally rambunctious, pushing boundaries and running around causing trouble, inexplicably had chosen to lie next to Espresso. I found that behavior as odd as Blaze trying to kick Espresso the day before.  Not understanding, and in a thick mind fog, all I could think about was that Tess was lying in the dirt, causing me to become irritated at the prospect of having to give her a bath.  It would be the one more thing I had to do that night when I barely had the energy to give myself one. I called Tess; and she came towards me until I looked away.  The moment I took my attention from her, she circled back around and this time lay even closer to Espresso’s head.  I turned a few moments later just in time to see her outstretched face reaching to lick the horse’s velvety nose.  I was amazed at this unlikely instantaneous friendship.  In hindsight my animals had known instinctually what I refused to accept; my beloved mare was slipping away and there was nothing any of us could do to stop it.

That night, I gave Espresso a shot and hugging her, I sobbed against her neck. I felt like we were being stalked by time and tomorrow would be the day we could no longer put off the inevitable decision.   She would have a few hours of pain relief and should be alright until morning.  I fell into bed and into a deep sleep immediately.  I had only been asleep for two and a half hours when for no reason, oddly, I woke up.  I looked at the clock and with a groan, rolled over knowing that she shouldn’t be in pain for a couple more hours.  I wrestled against my will power and then with a sigh got up, knowing I couldn’t go back to sleep without at least taking a quick peek in the barn.  Unfortunately, when I opened the door I could see that she was definitely in pain and pacing back and forth along the length of the stall.  I caught her and she seemed to quiet down as I gave her some Butte paste to hold her over until the next shot.

Espresso edged to the stall door that adjoined the next stall and nickered at Blaze. I stood there for a few moments petting her soft neck and talking in a quiet voice, resigned that this would be her last night.  Suddenly her eyes widened bigger than I’ve ever seen a horses eyes before.   When she flared her nostrils that shown crimson, I prepared to jump back, fully expecting her to bolt, spin around or in some manner take flight.  I had never seen that look before on a horse and assumed it was fear.  What could have so suddenly frightened her in the quiet of the night?  Oddly, she didn’t bolt.  She just stood there quietly in place staring as if she had seen God himself walk into the barn.

Maybe it was fear or confusion or even pain. But something strange happened in that moment and I would never understand for sure what it was.   I ran to the house to get my phone and call the vet.  I told her that something weird was going on and described the pacing, and the way she reacted as if she had seen something.  Sylvia said, “Do you want me to come tonight?”  I said “yes, please.  I think it’s time, Sylvia.  You decide but I don’t think I can bear to watch her go through this anymore.”

I ran back to the barn and found her in the middle of the stall with her head down as fluids poured from her nose and mouth. Knowing that horses aren’t capable of regurgitation, my heart shattered into a million pieces on the spot.  I put a lead rope on her and tried to urge her out of the stall.  It had to be instinct because I was unable to think clearly.  I just know that in that moment I felt small and helpless.  I was simply a girl with her horse and I had no idea or experience that could tell me what to do.  Sylvia was there within minutes.  She quickly peeked in the stall and I told her about the fluid.  She looked at me and I searched her eyes.  I knew before she said it.  “I’ll get the injection.  She added, I think her stomach may have ruptured”.  She went the few feet to her truck and returned within seconds but we were already too late.

She grabbed the lead rope and said, “Open the back door. Let’s get her outside”.  I tried desperately to get the damned door open, cursing at whoever had so efficiently tied it shut to make certain Blaze didn’t gain entry.  My fingers were useless against the tightened knot and in my state of frozen panic, I became totally powerless.  In the meantime, Sylvia was trying to coax my dying horse through the inner door of the stall into the indoor walkway.  I heard a crash and turned just in time to see Espresso’s head hit the wall nearly pinning Sylvia there.  Espresso legs were akimbo as she desperately tried to regain control.  With a horrifying scream that would curdle your blood, it was over.  She was gone by the time she hit the floor.

Death came brutally as it so often does to all life on this planet. It is the lucky few that simply die in their sleep.  While I had suffered much loss, I had not witnessed death and in shock I wandered back to the house.  As I lay in bed, the terrible last moments played over and over in my mind like a scratched disc.  I was thankful that death had come swiftly in her last moments.  I couldn’t help wondering what it was that woke me up that night at that exact time; and why against all odds, I actually crawled out of bed to check on her since I had just checked her less than three hours before.  I felt blessed that Sylvia immediately answered her phone and that I had asked her to come even though I felt guilty for dragging her out here at 3 AM.  The timing for her arrival was nothing short of miraculous in itself.  Without Sylvia’s quick assessment of the situation, I would never have expected what was coming and how fast it could happen.  I could very easily have been pinned beneath the dead weight of Espresso’s one thousand pound body with no one at home to find me.  I was grateful that I had not witnessed it alone.  Although finding her in the morning would have been shocking, it would have been easier if I had not heard that scream or seen her fall to the ground for the last time.  Even so, I was so very glad that I had been there with her in her final moments to offer whatever comfort I could by my presence so she didn’t have to die all alone as my son had.  No one should have to die alone.  Maybe it really wouldn’t have mattered to Espresso, but maybe it did.

I like to think that perhaps when her eyes became so wild, she was finally and suddenly released from a tremendous pain. I’ve never seen a horse’s eyes look like that before.  I’ve seen fear.  I’ve seen pure panic.  I’ve seen frustration; but I have never seen this look before.   She didn’t seem afraid and Espresso was so often afraid.  I never asked Sylvia what she thought.  Either way, I don’t believe there is irrefutable evidence so there was no point asking science for an answer. I like to think that maybe some presence does come for us before the death of our body to take our spirit home.   I had met so many people in the past few years that had near death experiences (NDE’s) and they all told of the great connection between all of us and everything within this creation, even plants.  Sylvia asked if I’d like to keep a piece of Espresso’s mane and I nodded through my tears.   With adept and experienced fingers, she quickly braided it and tied it with a purple ribbon that looks beautiful against the shiny hair that was black as night.  Today her braided mane marks the page of her story in my journal.

The next morning when I got up, Tess was nowhere to be found. I made my way to the barn even though it was the last place I wanted to go.  I was shocked to find Tess there, peering under the stall door just inches from Espresso’s lifeless body.  Her face said it all. I have heard about dogs that are able to actually detect cancer.  And, of course I knew that my dogs could read my moods, as could my horses.  I had even watched the behavior of the stray cat that my mother had rescued from starvation, change markedly in the last year.  The kitty now rarely left mom’s side as the confusion and loneliness of dementia darkened her life.  How could I have missed the empathic bond; the connection that all my animals had with each other and to me? I have been reading about how all of us and all things are connected for the past few years.  I noticed how odd it was when Tess lay next to Espresso on the hill, yet I just didn’t get it.  Now I do.

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I was overwhelmed by the gracious help offered by a small gathering of neighbors and friends who came to help day and night; offering food and comfort as they took turns helping with Espresso.  As an act of friendship to someone going through a rough time, a neighbor down the road whom I had never before met, came to recover Espresso’s body and place it in its final resting place high on the hillside overlooking the pasture.   It is rare that we hear about these people; good neighbors, and friends when we turn on the news at night.  Perhaps that is why we have lost our way; our faith in mankind.   This became my “aha” moment; my gift in the tragedy, and I deeply realized the empathic resonance of divine connection on a purely experiential level that will forever change everything about the way I view things.

Not having any idea what to do with myself the next day, I took Blaze for a ride and together we commiserated in our loss.  He knew, instinctually. He plodded unenthusiastically along the dirt trail where he had energetically traveled by Espresso’s side so many times before.  A high ridge ran parallel to our riding path. The red, tan and gray soils provided a rich blanket beneath clumps of sparse grass and the dark twisted trunks of the Juniper trees.   Blaze suddenly stopped in his tracks and looked up at the ridge; his eyes widening with excitement and nostrils flaring.   As he whinnied, calling out to her, his belly quivered beneath the saddle. My gaze followed his and I swear, I saw her too, standing on the high ridge proudly looking down at us.

As I squinted into the brilliant light of the autumn sun, my sleep deprived brain took a snapshot of the hillside covered with wheat colored reeds waving ever so slightly in the warm breeze.  It was such a beautiful vision of sage, its tassels reflecting luminescent silver against the glittering gold yarrow; the bluest of blue Colorado skies its backdrop.  In my mind’s eye, I could see her galloping along the ridge, her black coat shimmering, mane and tail streaming behind her in the wind.   Spirit had painted me a picture, her parting gift.  She was in deed a magnificent creature of the wind.  The lovely vision comforted me and I whispered, “you’re free now, girl; free to run with the wind.  You are a kind and gentle spirit.”

Grieving another loss had given me yet another opportunity to cleanse layers of pain and guilt that I had been stuffing the past few years.  Not that long ago, I equated being tough as a strength.  For the first time in a long time, I felt the flicker of a very tender flame reigniting deep within my broken heart.  It’s as if precious life was welcoming me back from the walking dead.

Our inherent partner at birth, death will always be our most profound teacher, and life the intimate dance with each other in-between.  A reader might say “it was just horse”; but to those of you who have felt the unconditional love and connection of an animal, you will understand.  Perhaps she was just a horse but she brought gifts to my life, even in her passing and I’ll forever miss her!

Blaze and Espresso