Category Archives: Spiritualism


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


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…





…..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.



…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?”


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.




This one’s for you…thanks for the Ride!!


With certainty, because he’d been there,

He says, “I’m going to show you true love” 

He tells you that your expectations stole it from your youth, your innocence

And you no longer recognize its ubiquitous presence

“Love is everything just as White is all colors,” he says 

“Love includes darkness just as White includes black.”

 He just shattered your illusion into a million shards of glass


The ride is like a rocket through a wormhole

It rattles your clenched teeth and your jaw tightens

Your muscles scream from the strain

As you try to contain it. You can’t

Something has to give, your heart pounds

Tears burst from your eyes to keep you from imploding and exploding at the same time

And, all at once, you hear yourself laughing like a crazy person


This would explain why you could never wrap your mind around it

The Big love that only a special few knew by name 

Funny, you had always thought big love was happiness, joy, bliss, unconditional and sustainable

But now you would come to know it as good and bad, happy and sad

Love was all wrapped up in omnificent expression

Its touch subtle

Its feeling immense


This was the real stuff, not at all what you expected

Not the rush of chemicals through your bloodstream

All lightning bolts and fireworks

Dopamine abandoning you to exhaustion

It was a smile, a babe in arms

The pain and emptiness of abandonment

The new bud of a rose unfurling itself to meet the sun


It is the whisper that resounds and echoes in your heart

It begins like the slow and throaty snarl of a great African lion

Gathering force with a  guttural and majestic roar that rattles your bones

Goosebumps rise on your flesh and a chill runs down your spine

It’s intensity reverberates  through the confines of who you thought you were

Shaking your entire being to its core


The quiet hint of its magnitude gathers in your heart

And expands your chest until you can hear your ribs cracking

It rises through your throat, insisting you feel its primordial essence

You clench your jaws tighter,

You try to push it back where it came from, where it belongs, safely contained

This big Love, like a great master of illusion, eludes your efforts

Drifting by silently unnoticed on a veil of gossamer mist


Passion rose up in you, tears burst from your eyes and trailed down your cheeks

Your jaws clenched tighter just before loosening the tiniest bit

You transcended into omnificence and expanded into the relief of presence

You became one with the great void that was peace

You heard the sweet sigh of stillness

You felt its weightlessness

And you heard its roar and felt its heaviness

It was the is-ness, the nothingness and the everything-ness

The blinding Whiteness of all colors


You allow your thought forms to trail into the clouds that slowly drift from sight

Alone in your omnificence, you float in a blue sky like a playful otter on its back

You are untouched by both the sea of madness and the sea of ecstasy

His voice follows the thought forms that trail into the clouds and disappear


All that it was, felt like enough

 Safely contained in your heart-space for eternity

It felt like each color of love melting into the Whiteness

A volcano of molten void

It welled up from the beginning, asking then begging

Spreading its roots crackling through layers of fertile soil

Bursting branches reaching to meet the sky


Your body couldn’t contain your passion for life

And it leaked out in tears

That became a stream bursting with the roar of roiling water over a dam

Like the human drama of orgasm screaming for relief

While holding its breath for the long expected final sigh of ecstasy

You wanted it to end

You never wanted it to end

This must be what he meant


His voice is softer now as if it comes from another place

It embodies the stillness of a snowflake drifting silently to the ground

 “This is what loves feels like” he says inaudibly

… Then I hear the deafening sound of silence, a final beep of the phone line and he’s gone, a blip on the radar

For a second, the sting of abandonment hung in the air like a period before the sentence

“Just float”, I whispered

 “Forget about him”


I rose up from the inky darkness of desertion that had enclosed me

I felt the support and vastness of the blue sky once more

In glee, I floated, twisting and turning, pivoting like a sky diver in free fall with outstretched arms

My heart pounded in my chest

It gasped out of fear and exhilaration

My breath became so shallow that I wondered if it would be my last

…And there you were, blazing towards me like a comet

Hands reaching for mine

From the nowhere-ness of love, you were freefalling your way to me

With intense momentum, you grasped my outstretched hands

We circled in a tailspin of kaleidoscope colors

And felt the thrill of Wing Suit Angels

Skydivers in formation

Together we circled and ‘plied’ through space and timelessness

Ours was a beautiful dance of vulnerability and trust

A dance of eternal love

We felt the velocity of created and creator


I gazed upon your face as tears of familiarity blurred my vision and burned a trail down my face

Your tender gaze met mine and your lips slowly turned into a suggestive half grin

Glee replaced emptiness as I screeched, laughing out-loud

I heard your familiar chuckle

In the echo of a thousand voices you said,

“See, I told you!”









What’s Love Got to Do With It?


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.


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

What’s the Matter?

Hello God, are you in here somewhere?


A single wave lapped the shores of Infinity
Consciousness birthed from above
Longing to know itself experientially
Arising from the great Sea of Love

Creator of it ALL, names irrelevant
Our Father throned on High
The singular without a plural
Yahweh, Mother Earth, Father Sky


Thus, physicality infused the Cosmos
Mystical in its Grace
Swirling atoms, galaxies and Stardust
Neurons firing in empty space


24 trillion miles to the stars
A spinning planet, our domain
Billions of stars light the Milky Way
While Billions of Neurons fire our brains

Black holes and exploding stars
Inhabit our Outer Space
The Mind, as close as our next thought
A most mystical Inner place

mind 2

Energy in motion
E-Motion of intimacy and Grace
The Mind, the Great I AM
Disguised in the Human Race

We explore Genes, DNA and Atoms
Beyond “those eyes” of awe
Yet, the “Mind” and the Universe” remain
The greatest mysteries of all


God forgot so we could remember
Authentic Self knows the truth
The great desire of the Infinite
To find the Fountain of Youth

To feel the touch of skin against skin
The sun upon his face
To stare up at the stars at night
and find peace in that space

Lust and love, a feast of chemistry
an  electrifying, passionate kiss
Lonely tears trace a path of heartache
For the love she’ll always miss


Pain, a great catalyst for Wisdom
After the Perfect Storm
Wisdom promises peace thereafter
Or when the Heart returns Home

Unconditional love, a delusion
Narcistic love our fate
Overused, the words hold no meaning
I’m sorry,” comes too late

The magnificence of the Paradigm
A grand Matrix of Delusion
Physicality laced with emotion
The ultimate Illusion

Still, the secret of life eludes us
While we look to Outer Space
The answer lies within our hearts
The colossal Leap of Faith


All connected to one another
By a web of Photo-protons
We feel the energy of those on Earth
As well as those beyond

Heaven and Earth, the Masterpiece
The Artist, still a Mystery?
Evolution, a Theory in Crisis
As God smiles Knowingly


Oh, for the drama of it all!”

And God said, “Whatever IS the Matter?  It’s ALL good!”



In the Darkness

I would have traded places with anyone raised on love,

but how would anyone raised on love bear this death?

Sharon Olds, from “Wonder”


I’ve been working on a piece that I call “Writing about Writing”, an excavation process that I am using to uncover my truths and dreams of being or becoming a writer.  From this discovery process, while reading what other authors shared, I realized in the middle of the night last night that I was oftentimes writing for others instead of myself.  With the grieving process, I found myself crafting all of the pretty words to try to convince others, and perhaps myself, that it was all going to be okay some day.  Many times, I admit I was saying what I thought others needed to hear in order to instill “hope” instead of just writing my authentic truth.

The truth is that grieving isn’t a lateral process, at least not for me.  It isn’t a neat little contained package tied with a bow.  It’s messy and unpredictable.  I feel ashamed when I regress.   Others don’t understand. I don’t understand.  I’ve been to the classes, I’ve felt the pain, I’ve felt the love and I’ve felt spirit.  Why do I have to return to pain again?  Will it ever be over?  The following is about my dream last night.   I’ve decided to share because there just may be one person out there that needs to hear my authentic truth.  It might just be me.


In the Darkness

Far away in your consciousness, you hear a soft plop and then another plop on your pillow. “What is that?” It sounds like rain and you are confused.   “Where am I?” You slowly realize it isn’t rain because you feel it, warm and salty against your skin.   Another tear squeezes its way from the corner of your tightly closed eyelid, and traces a trail down the side of your face.  As your mind shakes itself awake, you realize you must have been dreaming. What were you dreaming? Another instant passes and the realization comes flooding back in pieces and sizzles like a hot branding iron to your chest. You are thankful it was just a bad dream until you realize that your reality is the real nightmare. You shriek, “My God, the dream isn’t true. Chad really didn’t come back. He is dead. He’s really dead!”

The dreams are reoccurring but less frequent now.   You know it’s just your subconscious trying to work out a solution to a reality that your consciousness can’t accept. Maybe it never will. Sometimes the dreams are of a younger Chad and you somehow know, and even seem to accept in that dream state, the fact that he won’t survive his childhood. The happy dream version is when he finds you after you thought he was dead. He drives up or walks in the door and you are so ecstatic that he is alive after all; that is until you wake up. That is the cruelest dream of all because awaking plunges you back into the full primal emotion of a hell that at least, overtime, had become blurry around the edges.

You lay in the darkness in shock, feeling helpless. There is no way to run from it, nowhere to hide in the darkness. You feel the pain swelling in your heart and your heart naturally begins to contract in order to save you; just like it always has before. You tell it not to this time; to stay open.   By now, drowning in your tears with snot dripping from your nose, you get out of bed to get a Kleenex. You coach yourself to just let it go. “No one is in the house”, you tell yourself. “No one will hear. So many times you’re not in a place to let it all out. This is your chance.   Open your heart, and let it weep.” You let out a wail that would wake the neighbors if you had close neighbors. You bawl like any mother or animal that has just lost her baby. You wonder how many more times you will have to suffer the loss.

Tears run down your cheeks and you can’t breathe as your mind paints you a picture of hell, dragging your heart with it as hostage, kicking and screaming. Your heart recoils from an altered universe that only the Ego knows. You see imagery of your son fighting for his life at the end of a rope; all alone, no one there to help him or to hear the echoes of his cries. It’s all wrong! It pries your heart wide open and you cry so hard the muscles in your face begin to cramp; and then you cry some more. You tell your mind to stop. No more pictures, they’re just lies it made up. You weren’t there. You don’t know. But, you do know.

Alone in the dark, you hear the whisper of Spirit. You reach for a pen and paper; it’s your connection, your lifeline. Writing is how you extract the poisonous arrows from your heart. Your mind isn’t evil; it just needs to be heard, to warn you and keep you safe. You learned this while you were very young, when it was never safe to live in your heart space.   You learned how to quickly close your heart; how to rationalize your feelings so you didn’t bleed to death. Once the words are on paper, your mind relaxes; its job done.

You think of your son the day he was born and how happy, proud and relieved you were when he belted out his first cry, filling his lungs with a gulp of air. You were with him when he took his first breath and you should have been there when he drew his last. It all felt so wrong. How could a mother even bear to witness her child dying; yet so many do.  You wonder if somehow you knew. Did you pause in that exact instant when his spirit flew from his body? Did a shiver run down your spine?

Human life can be unfathomably cruel. You no longer cry for Chad but grieve a beautiful life lost. You grieve the life that you lost. You cry for the little girl who finally felt love as a young woman only to have it stolen from her. You’re grateful for the opportunity to have known and loved your son and you pray that it’s all true; that you’ll be together again one day. You whisper into the darkness, “so long, Chad, I’ll be seeing you.”




Once Upon A Time…
In the Garden of Good and Evil…

She bit into the crisp apple
Even a Goddess couldn’t resist
The “CrunchhHH” echoed around the world
Duality born out of bliss


Good clashed against evil
Your God challenged mine
Big Bang opposed Evolution
In the Jungles of Space and Time

Religious leaders heard the ‘voice’ of God
Lambs followed without a clue
Dogmas, power, greed and murder
To protect those chosen few

From the Bleachers of Corporal Existence
Viewed through lens of distortion
Hate tackled love with poignancy
Emotion of epic proportion

 Ego, once Servant to the Warrior Heart
Now seduced by the song of Sirens
Believes its mindless chatter and story
While Heart now serves the Tyrant

Whose voice causes Ego to tremble with worry?
Like an abused dog beaten and shamed
It’s job to protect its Master
It’s demeanor wary and afraid

How can we understand being human
Ego, separate and alone
Tethered like a Kite in a Hurricane
God patiently outwaits the storm

Ego, trapped in imperfection
Anxiety under Constraint
Secrets of psyche in a World gone Mad
Society with so little restraint

Spirit co-existing with Ego
The Intrepid Survivor masked
Why hast thou forsaken me?”
Broken, he cried out at last


I am collaborating with Mandy Benedict in publishing a monthly column in our local Newspaper, the Vail Daily.  I’m pleased to share our first article with regard to New Year Resolutions and creating an Inner state that will cultivate your desired outcomes.  Conscious Transformation is a program by Joey Klein created using the latest in Psychology, Neuroscience and a combination of Western and Eastern spiritual disciplines.  This work has provided me with amazing awareness going through my process of grieving.

Janice Kay Johnson 12 13 PASSION

Conscious Transformation

-By Mandy Benedict

As we move into 2015, many of us will engage in the tradition of setting our New Year’s resolutions.  Full of hope and determination, many times we set out to create something new and exciting only to become disappointed in the results.

I invite you to reflect on the possibility of an extraordinary life by asking yourself these three questions:

  • “Am I ‘living a life that I love’ and ‘loving the life that I live’?”
  • “Am I aligning with my highest vision and purpose?”
  • “How fulfilled am I in my daily life, career, health and relationships?”

Consider for a moment that we create from the inside out and our lives are merely a reflection of what is unfolding from within.  The way we think and feel inside will determine and define the results of our daily lives. Our external experience does not define our inner state of being, even though it may appear that way at times.

It’s important to look at the seeds of thought that have sabotaged your visions. Plant new seeds in your mind and emotions and then choose to commit to nurturing them. Your brain has the power and ability to create any experiences that you wish.   If you choose to create new things this year, consider what inner seeds you must plant.  Then water and nurture those seeds with supportive thoughts and actions.  It doesn’t mean that life has to change in order to create new circumstance, merely step into a new emotional state and think about life differently.  You can ‘love the life you’re living’ and ‘live the life you love’, right now!

Action Steps:

To ensure that this year is truly a transformational and benchmark year, try creating from the inside out.  “How can I evolve into an extraordinary, ever-expanding individual?”

  • Take the time to seriously contemplate the three questions above and be honest with yourself;
  • Activate and awaken the seed within by making a declaration.   “Who do I choose to become?”  Plant a seed by picking one emotion and inner state and become that. (i.e., peaceful, loving, grateful, joyful, passionate, compassionate, giving);
  • “What way of being will cultivate the seed I wish to plant?”  “What ways of feeling and what actions will water and nurture this seed?”   “What attributes will support my extraordinary life experience?”  “What would a peaceful, loving, joyous, grateful person be like . . . live like?”
  •  Commit to your word, your declaration, no matter what!  “I commit to being respectful to myself and others, regardless of the actions of others”;
  •  Envision and imagine, “What would my life look like if I were living a life I loved?”  “I see myself embodying the seed that I have sprouted; as love, passion, peace, etc.”

Make your declaration this year about who you are choosing to become starting this moment!  If you have a vision you’d like to be living right now, that vision will be fulfilled by way of how you take action from within. The results of fulfilling your 2015 resolutions now become possible.  When we create this way, passion wakes up inside of us and an enthusiasm for living ignites our sense of purpose for being and living in a way that can be extraordinary.  If your inner state has evolved; and your way of being reflects these peaked experiences of life as a consistent way of being, you will then be free to create with ambition, energy and passion, anything you choose to experience.  I invite you to stand for nothing less than ‘living a life that you love’ and ‘loving the life that you live’!

Quote about the Dalai Lama, “He doesn’t just pray for peace, he works for it!”


To train new neuropath ways and make lasting changes please join me for the upcoming Mental Mastery Series.

Please contact me at (970) 904-1233 or email me at for more information.

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